The Unfortunate Don
by Lancer47
Summary: How would organized crime fare in Sunnydale? Between Buffy and demons it could be rough going. WIP.
1. Prologue

**Buffy, The Vampire Slayer**

**The Unfortunate Don**

By S. T. Farnham

Disclaimer: I've borrowed Joss Whedon's characters and his universe for my own nefarious purposes. It's not my fault; blame my personal muse. I promise though, that everything and everyone will go right back where I found them, totally unharmed and ready for a new episode by Joss! Or not.

Category: Adventure/Drama

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None

Authors Notes: This takes place in Season 7, but there may be some minor and possibly a few major displacements of plot points. To be safe, we can call this an alternate Buffy-verse, but it's not radically different. However, there is absolutely no Spuffiness of any kind.

Prologue 

Officer Roberta Bianchi was riding shotgun with Officer Dickhead. Well, that's how she thought of him anyway. They were patrolling north of Restfield cemetery on the night shift while Officer Dick Fogel continued babbling on about something or other, Bianchi didn't give a damn anymore and was hardly paying attention.

"Look, you see when ya got yer government spooks wanderin' aroun' in out-of-the-way places like Area 55, then ya know somethins' goin' down, ya know? Huh, ya know, right, I'm not jest blowin it' outta my ass, ya know, its one of them things, where everybody has to keep quiet or they get kilt, ya know? Ya know?"

Bianchi finally had to say something, it was either that or shoot him, "You know, its Area 51, not 55."

"Huh? No it ain't, I'm sure it's 55, just like the speed limit. I member it from that..."

Bianchi glanced out the windshield and wondered if she was seeing something at the limits of the headlights tunneling though the night. Then the object resolved into a human form and she screamed, "WATCH OUT!"

Fogel looked up and saw someone standing in the road, he slammed on the brakes but it was way too late. They hit with a sickening crunch, the unfortunate person bounced up off the bumper and crashed against the windshield, which instantly cracked into thousands of connected pieces. Then, as the car slid to a stop, the body slid down the hood and plopped onto the road – gruesomely lit by the lights of their Crown Victoria police special.

There was sudden intense silence, broken only by the crackling sounds of the engine cooling down. The two cops looked at each other with "Oh shit, we're in for it now looks" and slowly opened their doors and stepped out into the street. Fogel walked around to the front and bent down to look closer. He said with a quavery voice, "Hey fella, you OK?"

Much to Fogel and Bianchi's surprise, what they were already thinking of as the deceased' suddenly sat up and turned towards Fogel. Fogel was frozen in fear as he focused on the fangs and overhanging eyebrows. There was a low growl and snarling sounds as the vampire grabbed Fogel's neck and bit into his jugular vein.

The disgusting slurping sounds on top of the hideous growling shook Bianchi out of her funk, she grabbed her service automatic and started firing, taking enough time between shots to carefully place each bullet into the most vulnerable and lethal places possible. The perp twitched and bounced away a few feet. Then he got up again. _This is_ _impossible, somebody wake me up, _Bobbie Bianchi thought.

As the creature stepped slowly and inexorably towards her, she had the presence of mind to whip out her nightstick – she whacked him across the face as hard as she could, once, twice, thrice, but he just kept coming. He knocked the nightstick out of her hands, grabbed her and embraced her in a way that might have been romantic, if it hadn't been for the blood dripping off his fangs and lips.

WHAM! Suddenly, the vampire was slammed away from Bianchi and went flying away from the front of the car. Bianchi could hardly credit her eyes when she saw what looked like a hundred pound cheerleader kicking the crap out of the monster that had laughed off her bullets. And then, seconds later, it was over, without warning the bloodsucker turned to dust, a little explosion right in front of the girl, who was at a full fencer's extension, right arm thrust forward with a wooden stake held as if it were a short sword, her left foot back, right leg bent at the knee. Then she straightened up and walked up to the officer, casually twirling her stake as she walked.

"Hey, you guys all right?" asked Buffy.

"Hell no," said Bianchi, as she leaned shakily against the front of the car.

Buffy checked out Fogel and said, "Your partner still has a pulse, but he's lost a lot of blood. Um, did you call this in? Can you take care of it now, cause I'm supposed to meet some friends and I'm late and they're gonna be worried about me if I don't get going."

"Uh, yeah, I can take care of things now. Look, I need you to give a statement."

"No," said Buffy, "you can take the credit, I'll be seeing you."

"Wait, what's your name...?" But Buffy was already gone.

-- --


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter I

Buffy was lying down on her couch in her living room with her eyes closed. She was well and truly pissed off. The front door slammed open and Willow bounced in.

"Hey Buffy," she said with indecent cheer, "what are you doing lying down on such a beautiful Saturday morning like this?"

"Oh," Buffyreplied morosely, "it's Dawn, again. You remember Ms. Barton?"

"Yeah, how could I forget her? She was really something when she was high on Ethan's band candy, wasn't she? But, when she came down she turned into an even bigger grump than before. Still, I'm glad she survived our snaky graduation. Hasn't she retired?"

"No, unfortunately," continued Buffy, "it seems that she was substituting for Mr. Whitmore's Teen Health Class when Dawn..."

"Wait, wait," interrupted Willow, "Ms. Barton was teaching Sex Ed? God, she probably hasn't gotten any since the end of World War II! What idiot put her in charge of a bunch of horny teenagers asking questions about sex?"

"Ah, well, that would probably be our new principal, Robin Wood, but anyway, to get back to the subject, it seems that Dawn asked Ms. Barton _When will you be getting to the sexual technique part of the course because most of us already know more than we want to know about saying no'."_

Willow cracked up. She tried to stop laughing and say something serious, but couldn't.

"Willow!" Buffy complained, "it's not funny. Or, it's not that funny anyway. Poor old Ms. Barton was terribly upset, she thought maybe she was the butt of a practical joke or something. Anyway, it's up to me to find a suitable punishment for Dawn now. God, this must be my punishment for being my mother's daughter."

"Well Buffy, I wouldn't think she deserves any punishment at all – I mean, speaking from my enlightened position as a twenty-something lesbian witch, I think I can state with some authority that pre-marital sex can be good for teenagers, certainly healthier than than some stiff-necked and dusty old organized religion anyway."

"Geez Willow, don't let Dawn hear you say that! She's already screwed up enough having to follow my poor example, much less yours too."

"I heard that," yelled Dawn from the kitchen, "it's too late sister dearest, I'm clued in about sex and I'm ready to try it." Her volume dropped off so her next phrase couldn't be overheard, "If only I can find a suitable boy."

"See," sighed Buffy, "what the hell am I gonna do?"

"What poor example do you mean?" asked Willow, a little hurt by Buffy's offhand remark.

"Oh, but I didn't mean you ... it was just ... really ... I mean I was the poor example ... oh ... not you, and I, well ..."

Luckily for Buffy the telephone interrupted them. Dawn answered, "Hello?" She listened a moment and then yelled in the general direction of the living room, "IT'S FOR YOU BUFFY!"

Buffy walked into the kitchen and after exchanging sisterly sneers with Dawn, picked up the phone and said, "This is Buffy."

Buffy listened a moment and hung up without saying anything. She looked puzzled as she turned and said, "That was someone telling me about a house full of vamps over off Center and 18th street. Who the heck would be calling me anonymously about stuff like that?"

Willow asked, "How about the voice Buffy, did you recognize it?"

"Well, he sounded sort of familiar, I can't quite place it though."

Dawn spoke up, "Maybe it was Giles, no that can't be. How about Angel? He might hang up on you. Unless someone is setting a trap!"

"Gee, thanks for the heads-up Dawn. But no, first of all, Angel wouldn't hang up on me. And second, don't you think I would recognize his voice? No, hmm, it might have been Detective Stein, maybe."

"Who?" asked Willow and Dawn, simultaneously.

"Detective Stein, he interviewed me when I thought I had killed Ted, you remember Ted, the maniacal robot groom wanta-be, don't you? And again when Faith stabbed the deputy Mayor, he interviewed both of us."

"But," said Willow, "that's been more than four years. How could you know if it's him after all that time?"

"Well, I've actually talked to him several times since then. I mean, I'm always wandering around in the bad parts of town at weird hours of the night. Every once in a while I come across ordinary human crime. I can't ignore it just because there are no vampires involved."

Both Willow and Dawn looked curiously at Buffy.

Buffy continued, "Sometimes I stumble on petty thieves, them I just beat up a little and send on their way. But I have interrupted armed robbers, rapists, and even murderers. Not often, but twice in the last year I had to call the police to gather up various criminals from Sunnydale's back alleys. So, yeah, I do know Stein's voice, although if it was him, he was trying hard to disguise it. Of course, I could be entirely wrong."

"Oh well," said Willow, "it doesn't really matter, does it? We saddle up and head out to Center Street, right? I mean, finding a vampire nest above ground in daytime is almost like cheating, but it's the kind of cheating that I can get behind."

"Might as well, it's not like I was looking forward to going the Mall this morning or anything."

-- --


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter II

Anya looked up from her accounts when she heard the bell over the door. Two men walked in; she could tell right off that they weren't the usual sort of Magic Box customer. Both wore cheap suits, and both had muscular builds and thick necks. If Anya didn't know better, she would have thought that central casting just sent over a couple of Mafia heavies. _That can't be right, _she thought to herself, _I_ _must be prejudiced like Xander said, and I had better give them the benefit of the doubt. _And she bent down to her account books and went back to work.

A moment later the two men walked over to Anya and looked at her expectantly.

"May I help you gentlemen? I have a two-for-one special on dried chicken feet." said Anya.

"Nah, we don't need shit like that," said the taller of the two, "My associate and I are visiting all the merchants here in the downtown Sunnydale shopping district. We're selling a special kinda insurance. For only five hundred bucks a week we guarantee you won't be hit with any vandals, like. After all, this is a real nice little shop you got here. It'd sure be a shame if anything happened to it."

"Oh, I'm sorry, but all of my insurance needs are handled by the Sunnydale General Insurance Agency, and I have the greatest confidence in their recommendations. Good day gentlemen." And with that, she turned away to look at Buffy and Willow, smiling delightfully at her display of non-rudeness.

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she stared at the two. So that when the shorter one suddenly swept all the items displayed on a shelf next to him to the floor , Buffy just sharpened her gaze a little more. Anya jumped in surprise and turned around to glare at all the broken merchandise.

"Hey," she shouted, "you owe me," (she paused for a moment), "three hundred fifty eight dollars and seventy-five cents! And I won't take your check either!"

"Yeah?" said Antonio, "see, if you subscribed to our Insurance and Protection Association, these little things wouldn't bother you, or happen." And with that, he turned sideways and quite deliberately knocked over another display case. He turned back to Anya with a scornful smile.

Anya walked around the counter and looked Antonio in the eyes, "You do not know whom you are threatening," she said with menace in her voice and deliberate phrasing, "you now owe me twelve hundred and fifty dollars worth of merchandise, plus three hundred dollars for cleanup, plus whatever it will cost to replace that display case. You will pay, or else."

"Or else what, babe, you gonna scare us with that lipstick color?" Antonio and Jules glanced at each other with faint smiles, and then looked back at Anya with amused contempt.

"No," said Buffy from right by Jules elbow, "I take care of the scary department."

Jules and Antonio turned and looked down at Buffy with surprise, and laughed out loud.

"Hey little girl, this ain't any a yer business," said Jules, and tried to shove her violently away.

A now thoroughly pissed-off Buffy knocked him unconscious shockingly fast with a couple of quick kicks and a hand strike.

Antonio stared in amazement for a moment and reached under his coat. Just as his gun cleared his lapel Buffy kicked his hand sideways – the gun went off and a bullet smashed a vase across the shop. After another series of rapid hits, Antonio was unconscious and laid out next to Jules moments later.

"Anya, call 911," asked Buffy, "these guys are probably organized crime, the cops'll know what to do."

"I'd rather chop them up into little pieces and feed them to the fishes!" Anya said, with genuine anger in her voice as she contemplated her broken merchandise.

"No, no, these guys work for someone else, that's who we need to get, and to do that, we need these guys alive. But they're not monsters – well, maybe they're monstrous, but they aren't the kind that we deal with, so pick up the phone and call."

Anya picked up the phone and angrily punched 9 1 1.

"911 Emergency Services, how may I help you?"

"Two crooks just threatened me and my shop unless I pay them, get over here right away.

"Yes ma'am, Detectives will be there in a couple of hours."

"A couple of hours? I don't know if these guys can survive that much torture."

"You mean they're still on the premises! Officers will be there in a few minutes. Oh, and please don't torture anyone, that's illegal."

-- --

Detective Stein frowned out of habit as he listened to Anya. He judged that there wasn't the slightest bit of exaggeration in her narrative – she didn't appear capable of prevarication. He looked at the two accused, sitting handcuffed on chairs, predictably exuding innocence and wonder at their predicament. He looked at Buffy Summers without surprise. Over the years she had nonchalantly called the police to come and gather up violent but surprisingly subdued criminals from here and there in Sunnydale, usually in the middle of the night from some of Sunnydale's darkest alleys. And she had been implicated in a variety of oddball crimes, but rarely charged and never had a charge stick. Plus there was talk among the uniformed cops – after hours they passed around stories about how she had saved the lives of several officers, in circumstances that no one would repeat in the station house, or when sober. Plus, there was that whole odd affair with Salesman Ted or whatever the hell it was. And no Sunnydale cop could forget the former Mayor and the Last Graduation at the old Sunnydale High School. The written reports of the cops that were on duty that day at the High School were masterpieces of creativity and restraint, but he was practiced at reading between the lines.

"Ms. Summers," said the detective, "these, uh, gentlemen, that you have detained are vigorously protesting their innocence while they are waiting for their lawyers."

"Yeah, yeah, look detective, we'll press charges against these creeps. We'll do whatever we have to get them some quality cell time. And I think you know very well that we're darned hard to intimidate. Just give me the correct procedures."

"Well now, that could be a problem, you see with only fifteen hundred odd dollars worth of damage, well, that's just vandalism. The district attorney isn't going to throw the book at them for this, not with the huge number of open cases of murder, torture, and plain old disappearances that we have here in beautiful Sunnydale."

Anya spoke up, "But they said they were visiting all the merchants downtown, they must be trying to shake down everyone. And they must be working for someone else, they look too stupid to have come up with this scheme themselves."

The two prisoners glared at Anya with murder in their eyes.

"And what about the bullet hole, and the gun," asked Dawn, "that's gotta be illegal doesn't it?"

Detective Stein said, "Using a weapon during the course of a crime is certainly a chargeable offense, but the gun itself is of course, perfectly legal if no crime was committed, this is California, after all. They claim it was an accident, an accident precipitated by you Ms. Summers, when you violently bumped into Mr. Antonio Scalerese here, causing his properly licensed weapon to come loose from his shoulder holster. He further claims," the detective consulted his notebook, "that it was his attempt to catch the weapon before it hit the floor and fire at random that caused his finger to _happen _to catch the trigger, by accident like'. And, of course, it was that same incident that caused him to stumble into the display case and cause this unfortunate mishap." He looked at the smashed display case and didn't look at all convinced by the explanation, he knew what happened, but there didn't appear to be any way of proving it.

Anya blurted out, "Then why don't you look at the security tapes?"

"Why didn't you mention that before?" said an exasperated Detective Stein.

-- --

After the cops dragged off Antonio, Jules and the videotapes, Anya, Willow, Dawn, Xander, and Buffy sat down at the round table.

"Why did you keep your new security cameras a secret from us?" asked Buffy.

"Yeah." said Willow, "they're so well hidden that one might think the purpose was it to keep an eye on Daw... uh, I mean, your employees, er, that's not any better is it?"

Dawn looked as if she were trying to disassociate her corporeal existence.

Anya said matter-of-factly, "Of course it was to check up on Dawn, she's a little klepto after all. And Willow, you too you know, I've seen you take magic supplies without paying for them. I wish you would all realize that _everything has a cost, _and someone has to pay that cost, and if you don't, then I have to, and I don't like paying for your little hobbies!"

Dawn and Willow exchanged rueful glances, and looked back at the table. Both tried to look properly chastised.

"Come on Dawn," said Anya, "let's get this place cleaned up."

-- --

A week later Anya was helping a customer choose between _Eye of Newt, _or the _Salamander Eyes, _"Ialways say, when it comes to spells, a real newt is a beaut, but a salamander is just a slander on a hanger."

The baffled customer said, "That doesn't make any sense at all, miss, are you just trying to get me to buy the expensive ones'?"

"Oh no, not at all. I just want you to buy the one that works best for your application."

Dawn was still at school, Xander was at work, Willow was sitting at the round table tapping away on her laptop computer, and Buffy was working out in the back room. If anyone had looked out the front window they would have seen a black car being driven carefully down the street, perhaps suspiciously slowly if one had a cynical mindset. As the car approached the Magic Box, the rear window slid down quietly and the barrel of a twelve gage semi-automatic shotgun appeared.

Anya continued, "Both are properly preserved in a solution of alcohol and distilled holy water, certified blessed by a licensed practitioner of the Magical Arts, and guaranteed to have accurate labeling or your money back. But almost all spell books specify _Eye of Newt, _not _Eye of Salamander. So _it all depends on your particular spell. And you see, it's because Newt is in higher demand that it costs more, and it's in higher demand because it is usually required."

"Oh, well that makes sense..."

At that moment, the calm and peaceful atmosphere was shattered by a shotgun blast. The front window exploded into shards and a dark object with a flaming wick came flying through the middle of the window and the curled wrought iron burglar bars.

Willow looked up, startled at the noise, saw something flying through the air, and said, _"Retende Curasŵe!" _and added a couple of imperative hand gestures. (Ancient Sumerian for, "_Return forthwith from whence thou camest thou carrier of evil intent and bad influence._")

The flaming object stopped dead right in the middle of its arc, then reversed course and flew back out the empty window frame and right back into the Cadillac's still open rear window.

The car promptly exploded. The blast shattered the front door and the other front window, merchandise near the front was destroyed, neighboring stores lost their glass, pedestrians were knocked flat by the blast front, a random hunk of cast iron from the car slammed into the nearby fire hydrant, slicing it off at the pavement and causing an impromptu water fountain. Which, as luck would have it, put out the car fire. Not that it did the occupants of the car any good.

Buffy ran out of the training room, wearing black with red trim form-fitting spandex workout clothes, "What the hell was that!"

Willow stood and looked out the empty window frame – and slowly sank back down into her chair as her face crumpled into a veil of tears. "I didn't mean to kill them," she sobbed quietly, "I didn't know that was a bomb. I would've just teleported it into the upper atmosphere if only I'd known."

Anya glanced over at Willow, and said sharply, "Oh for the love of D'Hoffryn, Willow, if you hadn't tossed that bomb back out there, you would now be toast, and Buffy would be crying her eyes out over the biggest piece of your dead and blackened little body. And you know we don't need that kind of behavior from Buffy anymore. Besides, it was probably just those gangsters from the other day getting their just desserts. I'm sure during my last tenure as a vehicle of vengeance that I must have tortured and killed many men less deserving – but you don't see me crying about it, do you? So straighten up, you saved our lives! You're a true hero!" Anya beamed at everyone.

Anya's customer was staring around with big round eyes. He suddenly sat down on the floor, apparently in shock, although no physical injury was apparent.

-- --

Crime scene technicians were just finishing up inside the shop when Detective Stein stepped through the remains of the front door. "Well, well," he said, with perhaps more jocularity than was warranted, "this is getting to be a regular stop." He shut up when he saw how upset Willow was, even now, a couple of hours after the fact.

"What can we do for you detective?" asked Anya.

"I know you've already explained to the other officer's what happened here, but I need to talk to each of you in turn, individually, and take your statements."

Buffy spoke up, "I'm getting tired of this. Do you know who sent those men yet?"

"You know I can't divulge any details of our investigation, Ms. Summers, all I can say is that it is an ongoing active investigation, and now it does have the attention of the district attorney. It would appear that the Sunnydale Chamber of Commerce is very angry at this protection scheme, and they have the ear of the DA. Plus they set off a bomb in the middle of downtown Sunnydale. So you will not be able to accuse us of sloth."

So everyone gave their story, one more time, to the detective. All agreed that it was amazing luck that Willow was able to bat that Molotov cocktail out with her hand, without either burning herself, or breaking the bottle, and it was just astonishing how it just happened to fall back into the car that it come from – but no one could call that anything but amazing coincidence. Anya's customer kept darting his eyes about when he was agreeing with that statement. But he couldn't bring himself to contradict any part of it, at least, not out loud.

And it was certainly unfortunate that no one had got around to replacing the tapes in the security cameras, although the detective looked unbelieving at that. He elected not to push the issue.

-- --

Later that evening, Buffy, Willow, Anya, Xander, and Dawn were sitting around the table, waiting for someone to speak up. Anya said, "All right, no one else wants start this, so I will. It is my shop after all. What are we going to do about these mafia guys? It isn't our usual cup of tea, but they are sure to be royally pissed at us now, so all of us are in danger. I don't suppose we can just send Buffy out loaded down with weapons, and have her murder, er, I mean slay, everyone involved. I would order her to do that if I could, but it would probably cause Buffy to get all holier-than-thou and shit."

Everyone looked at Anya and shook their heads. Buffy said, "Anya, we can't just go around killing people we don't like. In the first place, once we started, where would we draw the line? In the second place, the police would eventually catch up with us and we would end up in prison – I have visited Faith and I can tell you, I don't want to become her roommate. In the third place, one day I plan to go back to heaven, although not any time soon, and if I start killing people, well, then they probably wouldn't want me back."

Willow spoke up, "Yeah, what she said. But there are other things we can do, you know, as good citizens and everything."

"Like what?" asked Anya.

"Oh, lots of stuff, we can investigate, and spy on them, and gather evidence, and, when we get enough, turn it all over to the police. Also, Tara and I can put some stronger defense spells on the whole shop, that should pay you back for some of the ingredients that I have borrowed from you."

"That sounds like you're gonna get the better deal, but I'll do it anyway," said Anya.

Tara said, "There are some cool spells that will repel rocks, bombs, even bullets. But we have to be careful to set the reflection angle correctly so we don't accidentally k-kill anyone. I mean, we wouldn't want to do that even to someone who deserved it, and imagine how we would feel if some poor innocent girl walking by got hit by a s-stray s-shot?"

"That would be awful," agreed Willow, "so we will be careful. Plus, we should protect our houses too."

Xander looked up and said, "So what's the next step? I mean, there ought to be something for us ordinary mortals to do – this is an ordinary situation after all."

"Don't worry Xand," said Buffy, "you're not merely ordinary to us."

"Yeah," grinned Dawn, "you're special!"

Anya frowned slightly at Dawn, "Well, you're certainly special to me. But guys like that have been hurting people for thousands of years, so we do need to be careful."

"Well," said Buffy, "I guess we'll be dealing with people instead of demons, for a change. I don't know how we will be able to handle it though."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," said Anya, "Mafia and demons? Fits like a fine Italian leather glove. Don't be at all surprised if you find some kind of monster at head of this little scheme."

"Oh, well that's good, because hey! Slayage! And that would bring closure and probably confusion to the rest of the gang. So, do you think these criminals know who they work for, I mean, do they know the boss is a creature from the underworld?"

"Possibly one or two of the top lieutenants, but the rest them, not so much," said Anya, "of course, we don't actually know either, at least not yet."

-- --

Later that evening, after hours at the Magic Box, it was a research party. But it was mostly Willow accessing the Internet, reading old newspaper articles from big cities, and hacking into the personal files of what may be the local mafia head honchos.

"This isn't nearly as easy as hunting vampires," groused Willow, "I mean, these guys are trying to blend in and not appear guilty of anything. But vampires don't care, they just hide during the day and kill at night."

Dawn, reading the paper, suddenly started bouncing in her chair and exclaimed, "Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Looky here! In the paper? In this article about the explosion outside the Magic Box? It says that the lawyers for the bad guys, that is, before they got blown up and had to be scraped off the sidewalk with spatulas, and were just being prosecuted for threatening store owners and gang-related activity, worked for Wolfram and Hart!"

"Well, that pretty much lets the cat out of the bag, doesn't it?" said Buffy, "that's close to conclusive – that protection scheme is, or was, demon related."

-- --

To be continued. I'm still polishing up the next chapter, should be ready in a few days.


	4. Chapter 3

_Authors Note: _

_The rationale behind the title will become clear in the fourth chapter. _

_Of course, Tara should be dead, but I prefer her alive. Her part in this story is really quite small, but it just didn't feel right to me to have left her out completely. Also, I know there shouldn't be an intact Magic Box, but in this slightly alternate Buffy-verse, the Magic Box was not destroyed; that follows logically from Tara not getting murdered. _

_If it makes you feel better to place this story in the sixth season, be my guest, although that does mess up the High School reference. My plot doesn't really depend on the events of any specific episode, it takes place in a kind of in-between place that Joss Whedon didn't write about._

Chapter III

It was noon several days later when Buffy walked up a sidewalk to a large and slightly decrepit apartment complex situated on the wrong side of the tracks in East Sunnydale. She had a list of addresses that Willow had supplied and was studying the list and not paying that much attention to her surroundings – she was aware of sirens in the distance but it hadn't really penetrated that the sirens were growing closer. Her afternoon's peaceful investigating was suddenly interrupted as someone violently slammed open a wooden gate between the buildings in front of her. A very large man came running out, he was six foot ten inches tall, three hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, carrying an insanely large machete so razor sharp that light glittered brightly along its sharp edge, and it had a piece of rebar welded to the opposite edge in order to increase the heft and depth of penetration. The machete was dripping in blood and there were unappetizing hunks of blood, bone, and assorted gore stuck to his clothes.

He looked up from his headlong rush and saw Buffy standing in the sidewalk in his path, and shouted, "You don't see me, girl!" and started to run off at an angle.

Buffy yelled back, "Of course I can see you, I can describe you perfectly!"

"Then I'm sorry," he replied as he angled back towards Buffy, "but you'll have to die – it's nothing personal but – oof!"

He had started to swing his raised machete down and to his left at Buffy's head, but was positively stopped when Buffy snapped her left hand up and captured his wrist in an iron grip. Buffy swung his arm with the bloody machete in a short violent arc, sideways and down, and simultaneously dug her fingertips into the inside of his wrist. At the end of the arc his hand went limp, but his machete continued on course and twanged as it penetrated more than a foot into the ground.

Buffy then did one of those Slayer moves that even the best practitioner of the martial arts would have difficulty doing without a little supernatural additive. She jumped straight up with tremendous force, even though she started nearly flat-footed. As she gained altitude, her right foot snapped up and she kicked him below the belt with enough force that he started to bend violently forward from his waist. Buffy dropped her foot but continued her knee upward into his chin. He instantly dropped to the ground – Buffy was still arcing upwards so she did a mid-air flip and came down with her feet astride her attacker, her fists cocked back and ready to do more damage. But he was unconscious.

Detective Stein and his new partner, newly minted Detective Roberta Bianchi had run around the corner a moment later, following the footsteps of their runner. Detective Bianchi had her gun out and came to a stop, Detective Stein skidded to a halt beside her and said to Bianchi, "You can (puff, puff) put your gun away (gasp, cough), Bobbie, when Ms. Summers stops someone – they're either dead or unconscious (huff, gasp).

Detective Bianchi had a shocked expression on her face as she took in the bloody giant perp lying still, his machete stuck in the ground at a steep angle, and Buffy standing over him looking grim and dangerous even with her diminutive stature. Then Buffy put her hands down and backed off. She tossed her head and relaxed, in an instant she stopped looking dangerous and became just another college girl. Bianchi got out her handcuffs and cautiously approached. She checked the perp's pulse and quickly cuffed him.

"Hey," said Bobbie to Buffy, "don't I know you? You were the girl who fought that – whatever the hell it was – in front of my cruiser a few months ago, weren't you?"

"Yeah, that was me," Buffy admitted, not too happy about it. She could see that what little was left of her secret identity was stretched awfully thin.

"Remind me Stein, to never get this girl mad at me," she said.

Buffy asked, "What'd this guy do anyway?"

Stein said, "He's a murder suspect."

"Well, he seems to be, um, human," said Buffy, with a little glance at Detective Bianchi to see how she reacted to that phrasing, "and how come plainclothes detectives are running down suspects, don't you guys usually leave that sort of stuff up to uniformed cops?"

"We were re-canvassing the neighborhood while investigating that horrific multiple murder from a week ago.I'm sure you saw it on the news. We knocked on the door of a house just a block away from the scene. One perp jumped through the window at the side of the house. He had a blanket over his head and he appeared to be on fire."

Detective Bianchi looked at Stein inquisitively, "Stein, are you sure you want to tell this civilian about that?"

"Yes Bianchi, Buffy is a specialist in this – wild animal stuff. But don't go broadcasting to the squad." Stein continued the story, "He ran with inhuman speed past the patrol car stopped on the street, smoke pouring off him like crazy, then jumped down an open manhole on the other side of the street."

Detective Bianchi picked up the story, "I started to go after him, but then this mutt crashed out of the front door and knocked us off the front porch waving his bloody machete around like a maniac. I swear, those things oughta be illegal! Actually, he probably is a maniac, we haven't had time to go through the house, but glancing through the door it looked a lot like the last crime scene." Bianchi looked shaken at what she had glimpsed.

Stein said, "We haven't been advertising this, but the vics in the first house had severe neck injuries, but oddly enough, they were post-mortem wounds. And the victims were exsanguinated.

"So did any cops go down the manhole? Will any do you think?" asked Buffy.

Stein answered, "No, we all know better than to chase smoking perps into the sewers, right Bobbie?"

Bobbie Bianchi looked a little pissed off, but agreed, "Yeah, I guess I was just caught up in the moment when I started to chase that murderer."

"Say Buffy," said Detective Stein, "you'd best get going if you don't want to get caught up in the jaws of justice, we never saw you, right Detective?"

"Uh, sure, whatever you say Stein."

Buffy finally noticed the sirens were growing closer, "Bye guys," and waved. She disappeared up the alley on the other side of the building.

"Stein, what the hell are you doing, letting her go like that and blabbing all that police business? I must've still been in shock myself to – but I was just following your lead."

Stein replied, "Don't worry about it, and don't mention it to anyone else."

Bianchi sighed and said, "OK, but what are we going to say when the witnesses who are no doubt hiding behind all those curtained windows across the street come forward and describe her to the other detectives?"

"Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it."

"OK," Bianchi said with puzzled sigh, "you're the senior detective on the scene".

Moments later a multitude of cop cars screeched to a halt every which way around them.

-- --

A little later that day Buffy walked by Riley's old apartment. She looked in the windows and noticed that while all of Riley's personal gear was gone, along with most of the furniture, there was still a desk, a couple of chairs, and a telephone. So, she got out her key ring and flipped to the key the Riley had given her and tried the lock. "Score..." she exclaimed, "it hasn't been changed." She walked in and sat down at the desk. She dithered for a few moments, wondering if this was the smart thing to do, and finally picked up the phone. She heard several clicks and then an echoic silence. She shrugged and said into the phone, "This is Buffy. I need to know if more than one HST was fitted with behavior modification chips, and if you believe that any could still be at large in this area. Let me know as soon as you can." Then she hung up.

-- --

A few days later Buffy was sitting in the Espresso Pump having a triple-mocha-double­cream-froth-double-shot-cappuccino-with-cinnamon when a stranger sat down across from her. She was a thirtyish woman who would look right at home wearing a lab coat. Buffy looked up at her and said, "It's your quarter."

"We're not certain if we should tell you anything," said Ms. X, without any preamble, "why do you need this information?"

"Because there is a vampire wandering around here that has hooked up with a human serial murderer. This charming pair has been wiping out entire families. The victims have post-mortem neck wounds and have had their blood drained, also post-mortem, according to my informants in the police department. If there was exactly one recipient of one of your cute little chips, then I know who I have to slay, no question. If there was more than one, I have a little more work cut out for me. The police have detained the human half of this enterprising pair. I don't know how fast the vampire can find a replacement for him, or whether I can track him down in time to stop another mass killing."

Ms. X stared at Buffy and considered her options for more than a minute. Buffy waited patiently until Ms. X finally said, "More than one, less than ten. Unfortunately, after the final debacle at the internment facility, we have only an approximation as to how many of the HST's with the Angleman Behavior Modifier could be at large. One guess is five, another guess is one."

She paused a moment and looked at Buffy. "We do owe you a huge debt, one that, even if the world were a fair place, could never be fully repaid even though we would be trying. In fact, I owe my life to you. That's the only reason I am talking to you now. Nevertheless, try not to call us too often – you can never really trust us, we are the government after all."

She looked at Buffy appraisingly, as if considering something critical and eventually said, "My supervisor and I discussed at length whether or not we should give you this. He left it up to me in the end." Ms. X handed Buffy an unlabeled CD in a jewel case, "Be careful with this, it has jpeg's of each recipient of the chip, and distinguishing details, as well as incomplete specifications for the chips themselves. It has enough information that your Ms. Rosenberg should be able to construct a detector that will determine if a creature has the A.B.M. chip implant and will indicate whether or not it is functioning within optimum parameters. The information on this disc is considered so sensitive that we have prepared a self-destruct sequence for it. The disc is good for thirty days, then it will simply delaminate and the information layers will disintegrate. Should the disc be in your CD-ROM drive when it self-destructs, you will need to replace the drive. Also, you may be in for an unpleasant surprise if you attempt to copy any portion of this CD."

"You must be from the RIAA," Buffy said wryly.

"You may use this information, you may not disseminate it in any form whatsoever," said Ms. X as she got up and left without another word or even a look back.

-- --


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Don Bennidetto was angry. Murderously angry, so angry he thought he could feel his blood pressure increasing against the inside of his skull. He was attempting to be outwardly calm but his subordinates were cat-footing around him. He looked like he might explode any moment now. And if that happened, underlings would start to die.

Andrew Bennidetto was not actually a Don. That was a conceit that he had awarded himself. He was really a kind of captain, if organized crime used military ranks. He was newly moved to Sunnydale and if, after a few years, he successfully took over the streams of criminal revenue and redirected them into the Mafia's coffers, then maybe others would bestow the title of Mafia Don on him. But he had no problem jumping the gun and thinking of himself as the great and powerful Don Bennidetto, master of all crime in Sunnydale and the surrounding towns and countryside.

Andy Bennidetto was pacing rapidly back and forth and ranting, "How could this happen? How could three shop girls destroy one of my cars with two of my soldiers inside it? No one can even tell me if this was an accident or on purpose! Do any of you useless pieces of shit have anything constructive to tell me?"

"Um, sir, as far as we can tell, it might have been just one. That Summers bitch, the one that apparently threatened Jules and Tony the first time and got them arrested. At least, she was there the second time," said a worried lieutenant.

The Don retorted, "And what the hell is this 'threatened' bullshit? How could a mere girl, hell, she's not even Sicilian, threaten two of my men? It's impossible – there must be someone tougher around that we don't know about. But we'll find out, oh yes we will find out. Go get that girl, we'll get the information we need from her – after a bloody and fun little session in the basement – and that will also give us leverage over whoever is behind this. No wait, I'll go too, I don't want anymore fuckups."

-- --

Buffy was happily walking down the sidewalk in downtown Sunnydale, just a few blocks from the Magic Box. She was taking in the sunshine, and the beautiful blue sky with just a few decorative clouds floating about and thinking how nice it was to be alive and just being out on such a day. She was in such a good mood she nearly skipped a few steps. A large black limousine pulled up to the curb in front of her. She didn't pay it any mind. As she stepped abreast of the car, the rear door swung open and two large men got out and tried to grab her. Each of the Mafiosi weighed more than twice as much as Buffy, each were armed, each spent a lot of time working out, and each had much experience in strong-arming weaker people. Thus they were both too surprised to be shocked when they found themselves flying though the air. They both landed unconscious on the sidewalk. Buffy vaulted over the car and landed beside the rear window.

The Don was sitting in the car working with his laptop computer. He was checking his business interests and not paying much attention. He was just starting to think that this was taking a bit longer than it should when a fist crashed though window beside him and grabbed onto the collar of his Italian suit. He found himself being unceremoniously hauled out though the broken window of his own car and tossed into the street like a sack of garbage. The chauffeur opened his door and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun from under the dash. Just as he swung it around towards Buffy, she grabbed the barrel and yanked, being careful to keep it pointed in a safe direction. The gun went off, blasting a big hole in the car door. The chauffeur found himself lying next to his boss. Buffy looked around. There were people in sight but none very near. Still, she decided it would be too risky to pick up and carry the boss dude anywhere so she pulled him back into the car. After patting him down and taking his wallet she got into the front and drove off.

The Don was coming to. He played dead a little longer and took in his surroundings. Apparently he was in the back of his own car – but it was being driven in an odd and jerky fashion. Could the car be damaged? Besides the broken window of course. He slotted his eyes open a little until he could see that the driver of his car was a small blond. She turned around and glanced at him for a second then looked forward again, just in time to swerve violently around a slower car.

Buffy drove the limo wildly and erratically into the warren of alleys and industrial streets that she knew like the back of her hand, but she was having a bit of trouble with the car, since it was the biggest thing she'd ever driven. She stopped the car at the mouth of a dark alley, after bouncing the rear quarter off a lamppost, and turned to look into the back seat. Don Bennidetto was sure he would have bruises from getting tossed around in the back.

"Well mister big shot criminal guy, you've attacked me and my friends once too often. I want you to stop. I've faced and defeated creatures that would make you look like a little puppy, you're nothing to me. But that doesn't mean that I won't take action against you if you don't change your course. This is your third and last warning."

Bennidetto interjected, "Third warning! What were the others you little bitch?"

Buffy frowned and said, "Do you really feel safe in insulting me like that?" She paused a moment and continued when she received no response other than an angry glare, "The first time when I had your men arrested. The second time when I used their own bomb to blow up your car, with your men in them. Now, well you know what happened just now. This time I left your guys alive, but unconscious and lying in the street. You would be dead yourself, if I was the kind of man you are. So just go away, I don't wish to be bothered with you anymore. If you don't, my actions will astound you!"

She found a button that closed the interior window between front and back seats and pressed the accelerator to the floor. She knew exactly where to take this monster car and was gratified to find that organized crime didn't stint when it came to horsepower. The behemoth automobile tore down the narrow alley towards a pair of dumpsters – Buffy edged the car towards the right side of the alley, which was a concrete masonry wall, until the car was scraping hard against the wall, sending a shower of sparks into the air. She let off the gas just as the left front of the car hit the dumpsters. There was a satisfying crash and sudden deceleration as the limo became wedged between the dumpsters and the wall. The car shuddered to a halt as the airbags deployed. Buffy punched the airbag down and tried the doors and found them satisfactorily jammed.

She kicked out the windshield and crawled onto the hood, and noted that the car was now buckled so tightly that even the sunroof wouldn't work. Her prisoner would have to wait for professional help from the authorities for release, unless he could kick out the back window – but that was armored glass and Buffy didn't think he could do it.

-- --

Buffy bounced into the Magic Box. "Hey guys," she chirruped brightly, "I've administered the warning as per our plan. I hope it works."

Willow said, "But Buffy, you're ahead of schedule. How did you do it?"

"Actually, they attacked me. And this big-cheese looking guy seemed to be in charge, so I gave him the warning. We'll see how it well it works, and I guess we'd better put the backup plan into action."

Anya looked up sourly, "You know he's going to ignore the warning and just get even madder, right?"

"Yeah, you're probably right, but the madder they are, the more unplanned the attack, and the easier it will be to bring them down. Oh, here's his wallet, let's see who this numb-nuts is," said Buffy.

-- --

To be continued.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter V

Don Bennidetto shivered as he hung up the phone. It was time to report to his boss, and he didn't mind admitting (but only to himself) that he was terrified. He didn't really know what it was about the guy that was so upsetting; he had never witnessed Frankie Reichs directly threaten anyone, never saw him personally kill anyone. Yet, Reichs was one of the scariest guys he had ever met. He was cold, had absolutely no compassion of any kind, and was totally focused on his goals. Maybe it was that time Bennidetto saw Frankie take a bullet. He claimed he was wearing a bulletproof vest, but, even if that were the case (and it wasn't) he still should have showed more effect than he did. What kind of man could take a bullet to his chest and not show any ill effects? And what was even scarier, Frankie Reichs didn't even turn a hair, he just whipped out his hand and grabbed the pistol, quicker than the eye could see. Then he ordered his bodyguard, Jeffrey the Rock, to take the gunman out and waste him, slowly.

Now Jeffrey the Rock, there was another piece of work. He was called the Rock because he was dumb as a box of rocks, as well as being able to take a punch about as well as a rock, but he was absolutely loyal to Reichs. Jeffrey should have been even scarier than Frankie Reichs, because it was Jeffrey that carried out Reichs's order, no matter how awful. If Frankie Reichs wanted someone to die for two days, Jeffrey did it, with no emotion at all as far as Bennidetto could tell. And it wasn't that Bennidetto had a weak stomach, after all, his own father had introduced him to Technique in Torture 101 while he was still a teenager. Bennidetto didn't enjoy torturing people though; to him it was just a tool to be used when required. But Frankie actually liked it, he didn't participate, he merely watched and directed what was to be done next, and it sure looked like he got off on it. Bennidetto had witnessed a couple of those sessions, it was almost the only time in his life that he had felt compassion for a mook, not much, but some.

When Jeffrey the Rock got arrested Bennidetto actually breathed a sigh of relief, although not out loud. The trouble is, Frankie Reichs somehow found a replacement for Jeffrey, and this new guy was, if anything, worse. He was just a kid, like eighteen or nineteen. He was actually a good-looking kid, the kind that drove young girls to thoughts of lust. But the problem was, this Kid wasn't just a cold killer, he actually loved murder, anyone, men, women, children, animals, it just didn't matter to him. Thankfully, he wasn't a big fan of torture; it was the death part that he liked.

So Bennidetto wasn't thrilled to be called to the boss's office. Sitting in front of those people who caused even lifelong Made Men to be nervous wasn't on his top ten list of favorite activities. Killing Buffy Summers, that was on his list, these days Buffy occupied the top three positions on his list.

Reichs's lawyer showed him to the office upstairs. Frankie said, "Sit down Bennidetto, sit," and pointed to one of the red leather chairs in front of the desk.

He continued, "Now, what's this I hear about our little protection racket getting shut down, I thought you had that under control? And what happened to your car, again?"

"Yes, well," said Bennidetto, "the racket was working fine for a few weeks, until we got to an odd store called The Magic Box', they not only refused to pay, they got our soldiers arrested. Then, when they got out of jail, and went back to remonstrate with the owners of the store, they managed to get blown up themselves, instead of destroying the shop. Now I'm getting personal threats from one of the owner's, a certain Buffy Summers, if you can believe that." Bennidetto attempted a hearty chuckle, to show how unworried he was.

Hearing the name Buffy Summers' caused Reichs to twitch violently. He looked up, very surprised, and said, under his breath, "The Slayer!"

"Excuse me sir?" said Bennidetto.

"What? Oh, nothing. I don't think it would be a good idea for you to go after her. I'll take of her, don't worry. There was nothing you could do once you came up against her. You can leave now."

As Bennidetto walked down the sidewalk to his car, he was one very confused Mafiosi. He had never seen that kind of reaction before from any of his bosses, especially that one. He was going to have to think about this, he saw a glimmer of an idea that might just end up with a dead boss, and others calling him Don' Bennidetto, and even better, a dead Buffy.

-- --

Buffy and the scoobies were in the midst of another research party. Willow was busy downloading files from the police and District Attorney's office, while Dawn was busy formatting and printing the reports and everyone was reading. The mass of material was growing insanely, the sheer quantity of paperwork that could be generated by government functionaries was just mind-boggling.

Xander was the one who discovered something interesting, "Hey guys? Look at this. Guess what law firm is representing the murderer that Buffy caught?"

Buffy turned and looked at Xander, "Oh, you have got to be kidding, it isn't Wolfram and Hart again, is it?"

"Got it in one Buff, but I just gotta be the one to say it, what the freakin' hell?"

Willow chimed in, "That makes the kind of sense that doesn't. What could a serial killer like that have to do to get that kind of representation?"

"Well," said Buffy, "actually, W&H does like to represent murderers, but only if they are well paid and usually only if they are part of some demonic activity, but not usually this far out of LA. Um, what's his name again Xander?"

"Um," he flipped frantically through the pages, "here it is, Jeff Rock, AKA Jeffrey the Rock."

"Yeah," said Buffy, "he was as big and dumb as a box of rocks all right, but he hit the ground like rock, too. It must be his vampire partner that brought in W&H, couldn't be any other reason that I can see. So, we need to redouble our efforts to identity the vamp."

-- --

The next afternoon when Dawn was leaving school with her friend Janice when she spotted a car with that Bennidetto character in the back. She apologized to Janice and said she had an errand to run for her sister and needed to go right now! Janice looked askance but said, "Well, you don't want to disappoint your sis now, would you?" And she flounced off in huff.

Dawn looked around frantically to find a way to follow that limo. She spotted a truck headed in the right direction and ran out behind it and jumped onto the rear end. Luckily for her, traffic was fairly slow. She held on for dear life and carefully glanced around the side so she could see her quarry. Just a few blocks later the limo turned left and the truck went straight. It was another half a block before traffic slowed the truck enough for Dawn to jump off, other drivers looked at her like she was a crazy person, but she didn't care. She ran down an alley, back in the direction of the limo and she came out just in time to see it turn into one of the tonier streets in Sunnydale. Dawn didn't have to run now, she just sauntered casually up the street.

It was only a few blocks before she spotted her quarry, Bennidetto was walking around the car towards the house. It was a very large red brick McMansion, with perfectly manicured landscaping and an eight-foot wrought iron fence. Dawn called home on her cell phone, but no one was there, so she left a message for Buffy. Then she carefully studied the perimeter of the grounds, and finally noticed a large oak tree that had a large branch that had grown over the fence.

-- --

"Let go of me you big goof! I'll scream!" Dawn shrieked to the large and rather hairy guard who was dragging her down the hall. He had tried holding her mouth shut but she bit him.

Dawn stomped her heel down on her captor's foot. He yelled at her and tossed her through a door into Bennidetto's office. "Look what I found boss, she was climbing down the oak tree at the side. What should I do with her?" he said while shaking the blood off his hand.

"Hmmm," said Bennidetto, "doesn't look like much, does she?"

"Hey, let me go! If my sister finds me here you're dead meat!" shouted an angry and scared Dawn.

"Your sister? Is that supposed to be a threat or something?" He turned to the guard and asked, "Did you find any identification on her?"

"Not yet boss, she's a vicious little cat, all claws and teeth and earsplittingly loud, too. But here's her backpack." And he dumped her pack out on the table by the tall windows overlooking the backyard. He poked through various books and found a wallet. "Ah, here's a library card. Her name is Dawn Summers."

Now it was Bennidetto's turn to get a little twitchy. He said, "Summers? Is your sister named, um, Buffy?"

"Yes. And she's so gonna whip your ass!"

"Hmmm," replied Bennidetto, "she could be a problem. Tony, go prepare the downstairs conversation room for our guest."

"But boss, what do I do with the current occupant?"

"Move him next door."

"To the cell?"

"Yes, and get some clean plastic sheets in there," grimaced Bennidetto with a sour look, "now get going!"

Dawn didn't have any trouble figuring out what was being planned for her if she let them drag her to the basement. She had already taken stock of the room and its accouterments. It was a fairly large room, probably intended to be a den by the house's designer but now equipped as an office. There was a large desk near the back wall, facing the door. Behind the desk a worktable stood against the wall. Above the table, there were several swords and antique rifles hung in an aesthetically pleasing pattern. In front of the desk were two red leather chairs. By the wall to the right of the hall door was a leather couch, a coffee table, and two more leather chairs. Finally, the contents of her pack were spread over another worktable that was surrounded with wooden chairs to the left of the door.

When Bennidetto turned from her for a moment to look at her stuff on the table, Dawn jumped up on his desk, scattering papers, pens, the telephone and anything else to the floor, casually stomping on any objects that were in her way. As Bennidetto turned with outrage, Dawn jumped to the rear worktable and carelessly kicked aside more papers and books and grabbed a large broadsword off the wall. She noticed that the blade wasn't particularly sharp, but it didn't matter, it was heavy enough.

Don Bennidetto was infuriated. He took two steps towards Dawn and pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster. Dawn jumped to desk and swung her sword straight down to his gun, but since she was not a bloodthirsty girl, she turned the sword sideways and whacked Bennidetto's wrist with the flat of the blade. The heavy sword had so much momentum that it broke several of the smaller bones in his hand, forcing him to drop the gun.

Bennidetto yelled obscenities at Dawn, who coolly stared him down, standing atop the desk, relaxed but ready, with her sword tip hovering over her right shoulder, just as Buffy had taught her. He roared and charged, head down, determined to smash her like a bug.

Dawn watched impassively for a moment, and when the timing was right, swept her sword around in an arc, smashing the side of Bennidetto's head with the flat of the blade. Dawn still didn't want to kill anyone, although she was starting to wonder if that was a smart attitude. Bennidetto crashed to the floor, unconscious. Dawn heard running footsteps from down the hall and jumped to the floor and positioned herself where she would be behind the door when it opened.

The door opened slowly and The Kid walked in, a .50 caliber Desert Eagle in his right hand, and a long sharp SOG knife in his left. He looked down at Don Bennidetto and slowly looked around. Dawn sucked in her breath when she looked at him. She would have been totally smitten, if it weren't for the weaponry and his hunter's stare. Dawn had had enough, she brought the sword down on the Kid's arm with all her strength. She had intended to twist the blade and use the flat again, but the message just didn't get to her hands in time. She nearly cut off the Kid's right hand between elbow and wrist – his bone stopped the dull blade from cutting through. But the shock loosened his grip on the gun, which hit the floor with a loud wham, but not before he got a shot off. Dawn ducked wildly as the bullet ricocheted and grazed her ear. The Kid turned towards Dawn, he was shocked, blood pouring out of his deeply cut arm, but he wasn't out of the fight yet. Dawn backed up but the Kid struck with snake-strike speed with the knife in his left hand. Dawn just barely had time to slap the knife aside with her blade. She struck back as fast as she could, but the Kid was faster still; he started to bring his hand back to throw the blade when Dawn feinted to his midsection with the sword tip. His reaction gave her enough time to slash at his other arm. By now, the loss of blood was beginning to weaken his tremendous constitution, Dawn could see that he was slowing dramatically. She whipped the blade around and whacked him upside the head – he dropped to floor right next to Bennidetto.

Dawn could hear a huge commotion coming from the hall. She stepped back behind the door and awaited the arrival of her next tormentor.

-- --

To be continued.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

Buffy angrily hit the repeat button on her phone and listened again. _'Buffy, Buffy!'_ the taped message from Dawn said, _'I found your mafia guy! I followed him to this really big red brick house at … '_ The tape ground out electronic interference, making the address unintelligible.

She turned to Willow and asked, "Do you have any way of cleaning up this tape, Will? Either technological or magical, I don't care."

"Umm, yeah, but it might take a while. Give me the tape, I'll get started on it." She disappeared into the living room.

Xander said, "Buffy, don't we have this guys address? Isn't it on his drivers license?"

"It probably is, but his license isn't in his wallet. I have a phone number though, and it looks like a Sunnydale number."

"Got an idea Buffy, let's see that number." Xander dialed the number and said into the phone with his voice pitched lower than usual, "Hello, this is the UPS Customer Service Center in Sunnydale. We have a package for you from New York City, but the address has been obscured and partially ripped. Could you tell me your delivery address?"

Xander listened intently and wrote down an address. He thanked the supposed customer and hung up. "Here ya go Buff! Although, I guess it's a good thing they don't have Caller ID, now that I think of it."

"Or wondered about where you got the phone number. But thanks Xand, I guess we'd better saddle up."

It took about ten minutes to drive to Don Bennidetto's establishment. The gate was open so Buffy just drove up the circular driveway to the front door; running over the curb and sidewalk, narrowly missing the gatepost with her Jeep Cherokee, tires squealing with her usual driving techniques.

She marched up to the door and rang the doorbell. When she saw a shadow behind the curtained glass she knocked. The door opened a crack and Buffy slammed it open the rest of the way. Buffy, Xander and Willow walked in to confront a very large and surprised man. A trusted Mafiosi who couldn't believe his eyes when he found bunch of college kids walking in his front door. He didn't have much time to glare though, because Buffy attacked him. It didn't take long, a few kicks, a couple of punches, and he was down.

Buffy and Xander walked down the hall, looking into rooms, opening doors, until they got to the end. Buffy and Xander left two or three other unconscious men lying on the floor on their way. There was a large finely crafted door at the end of the grand hall, standing invitingly open. Buffy looked piercingly at Xander until he got the message. They stood on either side of the door, Xander waiting patiently for Buffy's signal. After listening for several moments, she turned slightly and leaped through the door, only to stop suddenly as she noticed the bodies lying on the floor.

"Well, it's about time you got here Buffy," Dawn said, "I had to take care of these guys myself, and you know what mom thinks about me fighting!"

"Then it's a good thing she's no longer around to see you go haring off by yourself. What did you think you were doing? Going after the freaking Cosa Nostra all alone! Without any backup at all!"

"Hey, I called you didn't I? Besides, you're lucky I'm not dead!"

"I'm lucky?" Buffy tried to continue with her angry banter, but couldn't. She grabbed her sister and hugged her fiercely.

"Hey guys?" Xander interrupted, "you can get all familial later, right now lets see about getting out of here."

"Good idea," said Dawn, "but first, let's check out the basement. That Bennidetto guy said something about moving a prisoner from the torture chamber to the dungeon. Maybe we can do some good while we're here."

"Dungeon? Torture chamber?" Buffy whispered, "what kind of monsters are we dealing with?"

"Well you know Buffy, you don't have to be a demon to be a monster. We humans have got that down pat. Of course, if you would have read a history book instead of, you know, saving the world a bunch of times, you'd know that." Xander said with an impudent grin.

"Yeah yeah, let's go downstairs."

"I'm not at all sure that I'm looking forward to this."

Dawn added, "But if they had to move someone that suggests that he's still alive. I think we'd better get cracking."

"Say," said Xander, "do you think we should call the police?"

Buffy glared at him, "And say what: 'We just broke into this guy's house, knocked him and his friends unconscious, come and arrest them because they bruised our knuckles?' "

"Maybe we could come up with a better story than that."

"Let's see what we find in the basement guys, we may not have a choice," said Dawn, as they descended the bare wooden steps.

At the bottom they found a moderately large room, mostly unfinished, with a scattering of ugly old furniture, fitted out as a bar, or clubhouse. There wasn't anyone there, in fact, the whole house seemed very quiet. It was starting to appear that the Summers sisters had rendered every inhabitant unconscious.

They walked down a corridor to the right. There were several steel doors set in steel frames. One had a large and sturdy lock but the others just had surface mounted deadbolts. Buffy opened the first door and looked cautiously inside. She backed out with a look of disgust on her face. Dawn opened the second door and walked in. Buffy could hear her ask, "Are you all right?"

Buffy and Xander crowded in after and found Dawn checking the pulse of a guy who looked like he had been beaten and tortured. Well, that followed logically after what Buffy had seen in the other room. Xander said, "I think I saw a first aid kit by the bar. I'll go get it."

-- --

Special Agent Robertson drank a tall glass of water and said, "Thanks, I doubt that I would've lasted much longer. What agency are you with?" He looked a little doubtful, he thought his rescuers looked awfully young but he wasn't going to complain.

"We're not with any agency, we're strictly amateurs when it comes to dealing with the Mob. But they attacked our friend's store and nearly killed us in the process, so we thought we'd investigate. Good thing for you, huh?" said Buffy.

Robertson said, " Well, however you got here, I need to call in my backup, and probably the local police."

"Actually," said Dawn, "the police are nearly here, at least, we heard sirens getting closer as we came down the stairs. If you have some influence with them, you'd better get it in gear."

Buffy added, "Yeah, cause we walked in the front door and between my sister, Xander, and me we cold-cocked most of the inhabitants of this house. We planned to be long gone before the cops got here, do you have a good explanation for our apparent lawlessness?"

"Don't worry," Robertson said, "I just need a phone."

Xander asked, "But what are you going to say? I mean, I guess we can all claim that we're here to rescue you, but how did we know?"

The Agent replied, "Say nothing at all. You are all under my authority."

"Oh that's gonna go over big," said Buffy, "I predict that Detective Stein is going to have a serious case of gastro-intestinal distress."

"Well," Dawn blurted out, "they did kidnap me, technically. And they threatened me with stuff that I don't care to think about. Of course, I was trespassing with intent to eavesdrop at the time, but still. The reason they moved you Agent Robertson, is because they intended to put me in that room."

No one had anything to say as they bleakly contemplated that scenario.

By this time they had all moved back upstairs and ended up in the office. Agent Robertson sat down heavily; he was obviously suffering from the abuse that he had been subjected to the last few days. But he was still sharp enough to notice everything around him, so when Bennidetto started to moan he said, "Does anyone know where my handcuffs are? I think we need to restrain some of the perpetrators that are littering the house," with a pointed look toward the 'Don'.

"Yeah," said Dawn, "I know where your stuff is, I think I saw it all behind the desk, actually I may have kicked most of this stuff off the desk." She bent down and picked up handcuffs, a badge folder, a gun and holster, and all sorts of FBI accouterments.

"Thanks, and why don't you hand me that gun over there, as well as any other guns," said the FBI Agent, looking at The Kids Desert Eagle and Bennidetto's .38."

Buffy collected and handed over the guns, then grabbed the handcuffs and said, "I'll take care of this butthead." She bent over to turn Bennidetto over, but he suddenly twisted and grabbed Buffy around the neck with his left hand. He tried to hit her with his right, but by then Buffy twisted her hands this way and that, and he found himself trussed up in cuffs. Robertson blinked his eyes as he tried to process what he had just seen.

Bennidetto, from his position on his side one the floor, said, "Well girly, you got me for now. But I gotta tell ya, it ain't gonna last. And when I get free again, you and me are gonna have a long talk."

"Well Mr. Bennidetto," replied Buffy, "just how soon do you think you can get out of jail with your torture chamber providing evidence? I just don't think your fancy lawyers are going to be able to help you this time."

"I don't know what's in the basement, I don't go down there. Besides, you don't know my fancy lawyers!"

"You mean Wolfram & Hart? Yeah, I know them, they're not gonna be enough to get you out of this one."

He fell silent for a moment and noticed the still unconscious Kid lying on the floor. "What the fuck is he doin' here!" He exclaimed to no one in particular.

"I dunno," said Dawn, "I whacked him with the sword when he tried to kill me. I suppose we should try to stop the bleeding," she added without any discernible enthusiasm, "although though he is pretty cute."

Agent Robertson was surprised at Dawn's revelation, but couldn't get a word in before Buffy frowned and asked Bennidetto, "Why, don't you recognize him?"

"Yeah," he replied, "that's The Kid." Everyone could hear his capitalization. "He's like the boss's shadow or something. Ever since Jeffrey the Rock got himself put in jail – the kid kinda took over for him." Despite Bennidetto's attempt to be cool under pressure, he shivered as he referred to his boss.

"So," Buffy said, "do you think the boss is here? What's his name anyway?"

"Ummm, Reichs, but I don't think I've ever seen 'im without either Jeff or the Kid, on the other hand he never comes visiting during the day. I think he has some kinda allergy to the sun or somethin'."

The Scoobies all shot meaningful glances to each other. Buffy looked out the front window and said, "There seems to be a black limousine with very dark windows parked under the porte-cochere, blocking my car. I think we should assume condition red. I think I may have misinterpreted the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach." Buffy unconsciously flexed her sleeve and grabbed her weapon when it popped out. Agent Robertson frowned as he considered Buffy's wooden stake. Buffy stalked towards the door looking remarkably dangerous.

"My name," said the newcomer from hall, "is Reichs. I want to know who has been fucking with my business. And I intend to see you all dead, especially you, Slayer!"

As he started to enter the room, Buffy kicked him in the gut. He flew back down the hall and Buffy followed smartly, yelling over her shoulder, "Close the door, lock it!"

The FBI Agent and the others exchanged looks as they listened to a rapid series of thumps, crashes, bangs, and yells coming from the large hallway beyond the door. The commotion went on far longer than any reasonable fight should have between a three hundred and fifty pound hoodlum and a one hundred pound college girl. Just as Special Agent Robertson suggested, "Shouldn't we be trying to help your friend Buffy? She would appear to be at a severe disadvantage." they could hear police sirens getting very loud and suddenly cutting off amidst the squeal of tires slamming to a stop as an unmarked car parked in the front drive. Robertson couldn't understand why Buffy's friends didn't seem particularly concerned about Buffy. Robertson suddenly stood up, as suddenly as he could anyway, since he was still moving slowly and stiffly, "Open that door, someone help me stand," he said in a voice that brooked no disagreement. Xander opened the door while Dawn helped the agent limp and stumble towards the hall. He finally got a good look at the fight.

The hall was actually more of a grand foyer than a hallway, it was wide and tall, with an even wider spot in the middle. It was lined with painted wood columns, had a marble tile floor, and a fancy scalloped ceiling. The wide spot was occupied by an ugly granite statue. Thus, there was plenty of room for the fight between Buffy and Reichs. Robertson watched mesmerized as Buffy received a kick to her stomach that propelled her into the air and across the hall to smash backwards into one of the columns. She slumped to the floor and appeared to bounce back up, she flipped and spun around with her right leg extended and returned the kick to Reichs, who had run at her full-tilt for a follow-up kick, but now it was his turn to fly through the air. But this time, Buffy leaped after him and with her stake held in front of her she sort of flew through the air like a swimmer diving off a diving board, except her trajectory was altogether flatter.

Whatever, at the end of her short flight she had rammed her stake through Reichs chest, and...

"Damn!" Buffy exclaimed passionately, "I missed his heart!"

There was more squealing of tires as another couple of cop cars braked to a stop outside followed by the sound of flatfoots thundering into the foyer.

Reichs threw Buffy violently into the air. She crashed through a skylight, still in an uncontrolled upward flight pattern, while Reichs jumped up and ran to the front door, knocking aside the detectives in his flight. He sort of jerked a bit as he hit them, but continued on. His claws scrapped across the chest of a uniformed officer, drawing plenty of blood. Reichs grabbed his head with his hands and screamed, but didn't stop running. Three more cops just inside the door were shocked at this monstrous apparition, but they drew their weapons and fired, all to no avail as Reichs continued his headlong charge out the door and threw himself through the opened rear window of his black limousine, which promptly took off like a bat out of hell, violently crashing into a cop car, shoving it out of the way and roaring down the street.

In the meantime, Buffy flipped over in the air and finally landed on the roof. She watched in extreme annoyance as Reichs got away, and then nonchalantly jumped back down into the foyer through the broken skylight.

Buffy landed and dusted herself off. She became aware that she had an audience and looked uncertainly towards the entrance where she saw Detectives Stein and Bianchi looking at her speculatively. With a flip of her wrist, Buffy's stake disappeared up her sleeve. Someone was applying first-aid to the injured policeman, but the rest stared at her with a variety of expressions. Buffy pointed to Robertson and said to the police detectives, "Talk to him, he's Special Agent Robertson of the FBI. He'll explain it all." Agent Robertson looked dismayed, but shrugged his shoulders and accepted the load with a wink and a nod towards Buffy.

A few minutes later Stein, at the request of the FBI, was directing the arrests and detention of the mafiosi that were lying here and there about the house in various states of consciousness. In the meantime, several more FBI agents had arrived, along with a couple of crime scene technicians. Various sorts of cops were grimly looking into the torture chamber downstairs. Buffy and Dawn found a couch to sit on while Xander and Willow stood guard, kind of.

"Geez Willow," Buffy said, "I missed his heart. It's the first time I've missed in seven years. I can't believe it, I wonder if I'm over the hill."

"Before you go thinking you've got one foot in the grave Buffy, lets find this guy and check him out. He might be one of those guys whose insides are switched left to right. Maybe you didn't miss, maybe his heart wasn't in the usual place."

"Thanks Will, you're a true friend, I don't believe you, but you are a true friend."

Dawn said, "No Buffy, it could be true. It's rare condition, but there are a few people like that around. Something like one or two per hundred thousand, or maybe million, I can't remember."

"Well," mused Buffy, "I guess the next time I meet Mr. Reichs, I'll stake him on his right side."

"I think we should call him Mr. Wrongs," said Dawn, "what? what!"

--- ---

To be continued.

_Author's Notes:_

_I had intended this to be the last chapter, and I even wrote an ending where Buffy dusted Reichs in front of everybody. But it just didn't feel right, it was too easy (for Buffy I mean, not me). Here she finally meets the big bad, and dusts him thirty seconds later—it was too fast, there's a lack of suspense. So, even though it's more work, there will be at least one, maybe several, additional chapters because Reichs is shaping up to be the most evil vampire since Angelus, and no damned chip in his head is going to keep him from his human prey if he has anything to say about it. Not only that, but Don Bennidetto still has some life in him; at the very least, he certainly has more to say._

_The only problem is that the rest of the story hasn't been plotted out yet, so it may take a little while before I get around to writing it. With good luck, two or three weeks, without, a little longer. Thanks for hanging in there. _


	8. Chapter 7, 8, 9

**The Unfortunate Don**

Chapter 7

Special Agent Robertson along with Detectives Stein and Bianchi walked into Benedetto's office. They shut the door behind them and sat down facing the Scooby Gang, who by this time were sitting in a row on the black leather couch. There was silence for a number of minutes as it appeared that no one had anything to say, see or hear.

Finally, Robertson asked, "Why do I have the impression that I know less about what's going on here than anyone else in this room? Could someone explain to me how Ms. Buffy Summers here is capable of apparently superhuman feats of strength and how Mr. Reichs can accept being stabbed in the chest with a tent stake without any apparent ill effect?"

"Well," said Dawn, "Reichs should have turned to dust right then and there. Either his hearts in the wrong place, or he had one of those rituals done that makes him unkillable for a day. Except I don't think he did that."

Robertson said, "I understood every word you said Miss Summers – and yet, the sense of your sentences escapes me completely. Does anyone else want to try?"

"Don't worry, that just makes you sound a little like Giles there, Agent Robertson," said Xander.

Robertson didn't look mollified.

Buffy, exasperated, spoke up, "It's simple. Vampires are real, I slay them, stay out of my way. Although I have to add that by all rights, Reichs should be dust now. I am thoroughly pissed that I missed his heart."

"So," asked Robertson, "are any of these other arrestees, uh, vampires?" He looked as if he were dealing with lunatics.

"No," replied Buffy, "I noticed that the police searched all the suspects for weapons out on the front lawn, in full sunlight." Everyone looked at the FBI Agent, waiting for a response.

"Well, does anyone want to go into more detail?"

Xander elbowed Willow and said, "See, the Sunnydale police aren't as stupid as they seem!" Both detectives frowned in annoyance at Xander.

"Agent Robertson," said Buffy, "I could indeed go into much detail. But what's the point? You can't make any official reportage of anything that goes _poof_ when you shove a stake in his heart. You know very well what would happen to you if you started to write reports about vampires in any literal sense. Unless you used plenty of words like 'fake', and 'self-delusional', you would spend the rest of your shortened career talking to headshrinkers. So I suggest that you follow the detectives lead here, and if you ever see a real, honest-to-god bloodsucking creature-of-the-night, leave it to me. If I was you, I would run as fast as possible. If, by bad luck, you should find yourself being attacked by such a creature, try sunlight, a wooden stake to the heart, decapitation, or possibly holy water. Although it takes quite a lot of that to do much good. If none of those things are available to you, it won't matter 'cause you'll be dead, or worse, in short order."

Detective Bianchi spoke up, "Another thing Agent Robertson, by now most of the police officers in Sunnydale are aware of Buffy Summers and her, ah, unusual night time activities. You will find most will do their best to protect her from any officious interference. We are not, in point of fact, as stupid as we look." She shot a glance towards Xander. "The thing is, it's a career-ender to start talking about such stuff publicly, so no one does."

"OK," said the FBI agent, "so what happens next?"

Stein said, "I predict that Mr. Reichs will disappear completely from the face of the earth, never to be seen again. Then the FBI, in cooperation with the Sunnydale PD, will clean up what remains of this branch of organized crime in Sunnydale, and we'll all pat ourselves on the backs and possibly receive some public accolade. Who knows, if we're lucky the new mayor will give us commendations and medals in a public ceremony. Ms. Summers will get a frothy drink at the Espresso Pump and quite possibly a warning instead of a moving-violation at some future date."

Xander said, in an aside to Willow, "See how the cops talk all around the subject without ever mentioning it?" he shut up when he noticed the withering glares aimed his direction.

Stein continued, "All of our reports will go on at length about what we are doing about finding the elusive Mr. Reichs, and some will opine about his death, possibly at the hands of his organization for reasons we are not aware of, and make suggestions about finding his body near Jimmy Hoffa's.

As far as today goes, I would be interested in reading your report, if the FBI actually decides to cooperate with us locals. I won't be terribly upset if you don't."

"Well, it's interesting to see all this cooperation with a vigilante civilian," said Robertson, "is this sort of thing usual with your department?"

"No, and don't mistake this either. We are aware of some inexplicable occurrences and it is convenient to not notice Ms. Summers and her friends here. But, there was an occasion some years ago when the deputy Mayor ended up murdered: shards of wood were found in the wound. Neither I nor the Chief of Police are satisfied with the outcome of that investigation, even though a confessed killer is serving time. So, no, we do not allow Buffy _carte-blanch_. Some day, I may have to arrest her, that'll be an interesting day, won't it Ms. Summers?"

"All you have to do to arrest me, Detective, is to make certain that I know I did something wrong. In that case, I'll turn myself in without any drama."

Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Dawn finally left for home after many hours of officialness. The questioning wasn't too bad: mostly they didn't ask if they didn't want to know the answer. And it was remarkable how many answers they didn't want.

--- ---

"Buffy, BUFFY! **BUFFY!** Did you see this shit?" asked an outraged Willow, wildly shaking the morning paper in front of Buffy. "Benedetto was released on ten thousand dollars bail. RELEASED! I can't fucking believe it! For fucking pocket change! What the fucking hell kind of fucking legal system do we fucking have!"

"Calm down Willow," Buffy the voice-of-reason replied, "and when did you get all potty-mouthed?"

"I'm just soo — oooh! I can't think straight, I can't think of a word bad enough to describe what I feel, and yes that includes the words I already used. May he be consumed by the flames of hell, starting at his toes and taking an eternity to reach his cursed head!"

Tara, walking down the stairs, interrupted, "Willow honey, I can feel your rage all through the house. Calm yourself, feel the earth, enhance your spirit, we're all part of Gaia; remember, the millstones of justice turn slowly but exceedingly fine." Tara's words worked their magic on Willow, she could feel her anger dissipate, albeit slowly.

The front door slammed shut so hard the walls shook. Dawn stalked into the front room, she too was shaking with rage, plus a little fear, as she said, "Buffy, I just heard on the radio that Benedetto was granted bail! Can you believe this shit! I can't! What are we going to do about it?"

"Dawn, watch your language!"

"What! Focus please: the star of several recent personal nightmares of mine is out walking around all, '_la la la'_, while I'm in here seriously thinking about committing murder. That guy belongs in prison! And I seriously want to help you put him there, unless we accidentally slay him first."

"We're not going to be murdering anybody, Dawn, even those who richly deserve it. But we will attempt to get him in prison. Did, um, any of us, well, did anyone actually go to the hearing? It'd be nice to know what happened."

"No," said Willow, "it was early this AM, I had classes."

"I think Xander said something about going," said Dawn, I suppose we could call him."

The doorbell rang, Buffy answered it to find a no-nonsense woman and Special Agent Robertson standing on her porch. "To what do I owe this occasion?" asked Buffy.

"We just have some more questions, Ms. Summers, may we come in?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Buffy answered, not notably enthusiastic.

Once in the living room, Robertson said, "This is Special Agent Linda Sisneros. We just have some follow-up questions, just to fill in the blanks."

"So this is Buffy Summers," said Sisneros, "is Buffy short for Buffalo?"

"B-b-b-b buffalo?" sputtered Buffy, "that's..."

Willow swallowed a laugh, making little choking noises, but Dawn just let loose an out-loud guffaw. "Buffalo! A big, fat, smelly, hairy, clumsy animal—perfect!" Dawn laughed joyfully, "I can't believe I never thought of that one!"

"Well you must be the sister, Dawn Summers. I'm glad to have added ammunition for your sisterly love and affection, but I didn't mean to be insulting. I was just wondered what Ms. Summers first name really is."

"It's not short for anything," said Willow, "not even Elizabeth. Buffy's mom just liked the name. I guess she expected her daughter to become a cheerleader."

"I **was** a cheerleader. But what's wrong with my name? I like it, how come you're all making fun of me?"

Agent Sisneros said, "I guess I put my foot in it Ms. Summers, but after all, buffaloes are also strong, stalwart, and fearless." Buffy snorted, much like a buffalo.

Willow asked, "So what brings the FBI to our humble abode this morning?"

Buffy looked at Willow and mouthed silently: _Humble abode?_ Willow shrugged.

Agent Sisneros said, "We were blindsided by the judge yesterday and Mr. Benedetto was released on bail, with what was small change for him I'm sure. Special Agent Robertson is in charge of the Benedetto case, I am in charge of investigating the judge. We wondered if you had anything to suggest to us."

"You mean other than burglarizing the judge's chambers?" asked Anya.

The FBI agents looked askance and shook their heads in unison. Eventually they left, no one had much to say.

--- ---

A few days later Buffy, yawning with her first cup of coffee over the morning paper, sat up straight and started to reread the headline story. "Dawn!" she yelled, "look at the paper this morning!" There was an answering thump from somewhere upstairs, but no other acknowledgment. Willow wandered out on the porch, stretching as she walked and sat down.

"What's all the yelling about Buff?" she asked.

"According to this article in the paper, the judge at the arraignment, the one who set Benedetto's bail, was being blackmailed by Mr. Benedetto. It seems that the judge bought a house for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars from a colleague of Jack Reichs a couple of years ago—right about the time that Reichs and Benedetto turned up in Sunnydale. And then he turned around and re-sold it a few weeks later for three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Pretty good return, huh? Pretty good blackmail, too."

"Yeah," Willow smiled, "wait 'till you see what else is in that article."

"Did you already read it? No wait, I got the paper off the porch roof this morning, you couldn't have. What did you do Willow?"

"Well, Anya and I did a little burglary a couple of nights ago..."

Buffy interrupted, "So that's why I saw you and Anya acting thick as thieves, you were thieving!"

"No, no, Buffy, we didn't steal anything, we just took copies, you know, pictures, of stuff that, well, we found laying around, in the judge's safe, in his office, in his chambers. Then we sent the pics to the paper, anonymously." Willow finally trailed off.

"You broke into the courthouse? Willow, that's like a felony or something."

"Not me," Willow squeaked out, "it was Anya who did the actual breakage. Although I did enter with her. And I used my _733t ubёr-hax00r skilz_ to disable the alarm system. Plus a little witchcraft to keep the guards distracted in another part of the building."

"Hmmm," said Buffy perusing the paper a little further, "it looks like your criminal enterprise is having good results. The FBI obtained warrants for the judge, Reichs, and Benedetto. So, at the very least, maybe Dawn and I won't have to listen to you swear like a sailor anymore."

"Dawn never heard me. But it won't happen again, unless I get riled up again of course. Besides, I think that _swear like a sailor_ thing is is mere legend. Tara and I met a couple of nice sailors in San Diego and neither one was into cursing."

"Yeah? Were they boy sailors or girl sailors?"

"Uh, both women. It's possible my sample was too small."

--- ---

Don Benedetto sat in his cell staring out the barred door. He was in the new city jail, not the county lock-up and that gave him a little to cheer about—the building was so new that the cells smelled more of disinfectant and less like shit and vomit. That may not sound like much, but it was a big improvement over just about any other jail Benedetto had been in, whether resident or just visiting.

He had a lot of time to think about his enemies and he thought about striking back. Deciding who he would get, what forces to marshal and who to have killed first. He thought about hit men. He spent a lot of time daydreaming about Buffy Summer's corpse. More time than was healthy, really, but it kept him going. He also wondered if his boss was doing anything constructive. He didn't like the guy, but he was good at keeping a criminal enterprise profitable and that included getting his people out of jail.

At the next shift-change a new officer approached his cell. He stopped in front of the door and looked around. No one was nearby. He snaked a small object out of his pocket and contemptuously tossed it through the bars to Benedetto. Who, in turn, thanked the officer and suggested he look for a package left at the lost and found at the 12th street YMCA. Benedetto carefully described what the package looked like so there would be no error. The officer nodded and continued on his rounds.

Benedetto looked at the object in his hand and spent a moment marveling at cell-phone technology. Then he made his first call.

--- ---

It had been a quiet, dark, and lonely stretch of road. A service road to the cemetery that was now filled up with cop cars, an ambulance, a bunch of cops and FBI agents. And Buffy Summers.

Buffy was sitting on a convenient post, one of many made from cut-up painted telephone poles that lined the side of the road. Standing in a semi-circle around her were a number of police, detectives, and FBI agents, as well a crime-scene technician. All were looking at Buffy the way a scientist studies an insect. Buffy, however, looked back the same way.

"Seriously guys," Buffy said, "he stepped out of the woods and tripped over that chain right there. Then his gun went off and he shot himself in the foot. Then he fell down on his knife and injured himself as he hit his head on that 2x6 that happens to be lying on the ground, knocking himself out. If you don't like that story, I suppose you could make something up about how Buffy Summers, at one hundred pounds, beat up a mafia hit-man, at two hundred eighty pounds—all muscle I might add."

"How do you know he's mafia?" asked Agent Sisneros.

"I don't, I'm just guessing," said Buffy, "but I don't actually many people that are mad enough at me to want to hire assassins."

The cops didn't have much reason to do anything but arrest the guy. He was after all, armed to the teeth and caught (somehow) in suspicious circumstances at a suspicious time of the night attacking someone (who shouldn't have been there) who nevertheless appeared to be an innocent victim.

--- ---

Buffy and Willow walked down main street the next afternoon. They were idly chatting when Willow suddenly stiffened and muttered something vaguely Latin-sounding under her breath. Buffy was alarmed to see that her eyes went black for a moment.

Seconds later there was a loud smack and a puff of dust on the wall a couple of feet from Buffy. A few seconds after that they heard a gunshot echoing from some distance away. It must have been a subsonic load, Buffy thought. Buffy saw someone suddenly stand up behind the sign on top of the theater. But he lost the grip on his rifle which fell to the sidewalk below. Oddly enough, he fell too, but was caught by his belt on some projecting piece of architectural detail. Buffy wondered if she should say anything at all when the police arrived or just play supremely stupid.

--- ---

Buffy was in the shower when she noticed a man-shaped shadow on her shower curtain. She whipped the curtain aside only to be confronted by a man with a gun. A total stranger. Buffy was only mildly discomfited as she she stepped closer and prepared to kick and disable her new attacker. He said, "Well, you are certainly a sight for sore eyes aren't you blondie? And a real blond too I believe."

Buffy's eyes narrowed and she immediately attacked. The assassin tried to shoot her, but he managed only to graze her side. He got off another shot as Buffy's foot reached his gun. By the time she subdued him, there were four or five bullet holes all over Buffy's shower and bathroom.

Then the door crashed open and Willow, Xander and Dawn all crowded in.

"Xander!" Buffy exclaimed, "don't you knock before entering a girl's bathroom?"

Xander blushed furiously and backed out, "Uh, sorry, I guess you don't really need me in here do you?"

Buffy grabbed her robe and replied, "You all might as well wait downstairs. One of you call the police." But it wasn't necessary because the officer on duty in front of the Summer's residence came charging up the stairs.

It wasn't long before Detectives Bianchi and Stein arrived

--- ---

Benedetto was feeling even more put out than usual when he realized that the third man to occupy the adjoining cells was the third hitman that he had hired. This was getting seriously upsetting. It was time to call Mr. One Hundred Per Cent Smith.

Chapter 8

I decided to enter the field of action by train. They wouldn't expect that, even if there was anyone to suspect anything at all. But, that was my way, I operated one hundred per cent clean at all times.

The train ride was nice, California scenery always intrigued me. I thought about buying one of those new Hasselblads with the 22mp back and taking up landscape photography. Maybe when I retire.

Eventually we hummed into Sunnydale Station and I hiked into town. No good could come of letting a taxi-driver connect my face with the train station. Once I was near downtown I checked a phone book and taxied to the local Marriott. Then I spent the rest of the day wandering here and there, looking at this and that. I looked at flowers for awhile, maybe I would take up gardening one day. I imagined myself growing champion orchids.

The next day I went to the Espresso Pump and ordered a double espresso with a slice of lemon and prepared to spend some time with the morning paper. I thought about running a small espresso bar somewhere in my declining years. Maybe with books and a smoking room. My target appeared within the hour, but she had two bystanders with her. I left.

It was another two days before the target dropped by for a latte without any inconvenient friends in tow. Since she had already put me into the everyday background she had no reason to notice me in particular. So it was easy to "accidentally" bump into her and spill my espresso on her white angora sweater. I hated to waste the espresso, but my policy was anything for the timely completion of a contract.

She exclaimed and was upset, so I turned on the charm (I took a course in acting some years earlier so I could appear nonthreatening to my targets), and offered to give her a ride home so she could change. She didn't notice when I steered her to the traffic side of the sidewalk.

We crossed the street at the crosswalk and just as we regained the sidewalk on the north side of the street, she asked where my car was. I casually placed my hand on her arm and started to turn and pointed across the cross-street. My timing was excellent so I applied just a little extra pressure and swiveled my foot to position myself.

I always enjoyed these little moves before a hit, everything was just right: I could see it all fall into place just like a set of well-rehearsed chess moves. So when the truck that was passing by just outside of the curb in the right-turn lane was in the perfect position (I could tell by the pitch of the tire noise) I kicked the back of her knee and pushed against her back.

For the first time in many years something went wrong. She didn't fall into the path of the truck but somehow leaped straight up, and twisted in the air and came down several feet back of me. This was insupportable. I swept my jacket back and grabbed my gun. Just as I got it lined up in one-handed grip, she kicked it out of my hands. So I jerked my hands in a particular fashion and two switchblades fell into my palms. I flicked each of them open and, without trying anything fancy, swept one blade in an arc towards her stomach while driving the other straight to her neck. Her hands struck my wrists hard, I lost one knife and barely kept the other. I swiftly riposted as if the knife were a small sword and aimed towards her chest. She leaped back and kicked my hand, disarming me. Well, she may have thought that but I still had plenty of tricks.

I grabbed her foot, which was passing my shoulder at that moment, and yanked upward. She flipped herself down and pushed off the sidewalk with her hands at an impossible acceleration. She turned and twisted in the air but I grabbed and held her right wrist. This caused her to suddenly decelerate and she landed on her feet next to me. So I twisted this way and pushed that way to dislocate her shoulder while trying for a neck twist, but she hit me in the chest so hard I was stunned. Then she kicked me and I fell against the building and passed ...

--- ---

I woke up in a hospital with my hands restrained. I looked at the ceiling until a police detective walked in and started to question me. I said little except that I was thinking of growing flowers and taking pictures of them while drinking espresso. He told me about all the various weapons they had found in my possession as well as eyewitness accounts of the aborted fight on the sidewalk. I usually did better than that.

Eventually he left. I could tell that he was a little angry at my lack of response. About three hours later a pair of police officers in uniform came in with a doctor. The doctor checked me over perfunctorily and pronounced me fit for jail. They uncuffed me. The big one said something about how I must feel like a big wuss to have been defeated by a teenaged girl. I gripped his wrist and twisted while pushing. This dislocated his shoulder. Then I snaked my arm around his neck from the back and twirled him around until he was in just the right position for me to kick back into his knee, bending it in the wrong direction. As he fell screaming to floor I relieved him of his gun and shot his partner. I trained the gun on the nurse standing in the doorway with her hand to her mouth. I told her to get on the floor and I left. There was a security officer rushing down the hall. I shot him and took his gun. I ducked into the stairs, went up one floor, then took the elevator to the basement.

A man was getting out of his car when I walked into the parking garage. I shot him and took his keys. I figured I had about half an hour to finish my contract and get out of town before the heat got too hot to stand. I drove straight to the target's residence and parked in her driveway. I got out and found another police officer. I shot him in the leg, just to distract him, and disarmed him. By this time I was so weighted down with other peoples firearms that I nearly clanked as I walked.

A bystander poked her head out the front door and quickly jerked back inside. Then the target came out from the side of the house and I shot her. Damn, I missed. I don't know how she could move sideways so fast but she looked me straight in the eye and dodged. Then she was on me and kicked the gun out of my hand. I did a complete turn and came around with another gun. She kicked and hit me with her feet and fists as I shot, perhaps wildly, but I was trying to distract her. Finally, I tried to break her fucking neck, but I couldn't, and she hit me back too hard, I heard something within me crack, and then it was all black.

Chapter 9

"BUFFY!" Dawn screamed as she ran out the front door, "are you all right?"

"I'm fine Dawn," she replied, "and yes, it is safe to come out now. But would you call 911? And maybe Willow and I can help the policeman with some first aid."

Willow and Buffy tried to help the shot officer but Buffy was not happy. She said, "I'm sorry you got shot, it's probably my fault, I was his target after all."

"Miss, you needn't apologize," he said, "it is my job to protect young women from criminals, and I couldn't. But you finished the job very well indeed. You have nothing to worry about."

It was only a few minutes before ambulances, police and detectives descended on the Summers residence and started to sort things out.

--- ---

"Did you hear Benedetto? Some crazy killer went wild this morning, he shot or wounded four or five police officers, killed a security guard and some guy in a parking garage and was killed himself by a girl. Good grief, I wouldn't want to meet her in a dark alley!"

Benedetto sat down heavily on his bunk, lost in thought.

_To be continued._


	9. Chapter 10

The Unfortunate Don

Chapter 10

Buffy and Willow were sitting in the living room a couple of days later. It was early in the morning, the sun still in the process of burning off a slight mist from the night before. Willow was buried in a physics textbook while Buffy drank coffee and studied an ancient Watcher's Diary. They could actually hear Dawn in kitchen as she yawned hugely over her coffee and the morning paper. Xander had dropped by on his way to work and was searching through the refrigerator for something to eat that didn't require cooking or heating.

Dawn broke the silence by asking loudly, "What's a four letter word that starts with 'F'?" Everyone looked at Dawn with either a frown or a puzzled expression, or both.

"What the heck are you reading?" Buffy asked.

"It's the crossword puzzle Buffy, in the Sunnydale Chronicle. The clue is: _Analog Recording Medium_. There's a crossword that puts an 'f' in the first spot. I don't have another clue."

"It's gotta be 'film' Dawny," said Xander.

"Oh, I didn't think of that! I've never used a film camera. But I bet I know what all of you were thinking, you dirty dawgs you!" Pointed silence followed.

It was so quiet that the whisper of tires on pavement was noticeable when a dozen cars drove sedately up the street and stopped in front of the house. Buffy could also hear cars in the alley behind the house crunching along the gravel.

Willow frowned and stood up and intoned, "_Slow_!" and waved her right hand in front and then in back.

"What's up Will?" asked Buffy.

"Cops, cops and the FBI and a SWAT team. They're here to arrest you. I slowed time locally so we can talk."

"What? Are you sure?"

"We only have about a minute until they are up to the front door, these guys mean business and they're running scared. Of you, Buffy."

"Why?"

"That's a good question. But we don't have time to analyze this. Be nonthreatening to them, go with them quietly and most of all, don't say _anything_ to them, I mean it Buffy, the only thing you should say is 'I want a lawyer'. I'll get a lawyer for you ASAP, but you might have to put up with a Public Defender guy until we can get a good one." Willow waved her hand in front and said, "_un-slow_." She added, "_Peace and calm be with you,_" plus some choice Latin phrases under her breath.

Willow got the door open and was nearly run over by cops. By the time Willow turned around there were about ten guys with guns in the living room, all pointed at Buffy, who was sitting quietly in her chair, sipping a cup of coffee.

"Are you guys in the right place?" asked Buffy as she put down her cup.

"Um, guys?" Willow said, "your warrant please." She held out her hand, but they all ignored her until she thundered, "NOW!" The officers looked a little shook up, but one handed her a slip of paper.

Willow read it carefully while everyone else stood still. "OK," she said as doubtfully as she could muster, "this looks like it might be a legal and in order. But what's with all the guns and SWAT team and stuff?"

Detective Stein walked in the front door on the tail of Willow's question. "Ms. Rosenberg, we believe that Ms. Summers is a dangerous felon. Therefore: firepower."

"You guys are seriously crazed!"

"Nevertheless, we must take Buffy Summers into custody." He turned to a couple of uniformed officers behind him and said, "The manacles please. And someone read her her rights."

Willow looked on in astonishment as they put leg irons, hand cuffs and manacles, all sized big enough for a bear, on Buffy. Buffy was distressed. Then they all trooped out of the house, Buffy clinking and clanking between two cops the size of refrigerators. Dawn was seriously upset and could barely hold it together as she watched her sister forcibly marched down the lawn.

Buffy looked up at her next door neighbor, who was putting her trash out. "Good morning Mrs. Peters," Buffy said, trying to drum up a little _savoir-faire_.

"Why Buffy! What's happening?" Mrs. Peters replied, then she turned towards her house and shouted, "Harold! Get your butt out here! They've finally arrested that troublesome girl next door!"

Buffy slumped in despair as the cop pushed her in the back seat of a squad car.

--- ---

"Hi there. Are you Ms. Buffy Summers? The dangerous felon?" asked the tall gray suited thin man with a perpetual frown. Buffy was sitting in an interview room, looking much like a short, thin, blond girl buried under a stack of scrap iron.

"Yes, I'm Buffy Summers. Who are you?"

"I'm your lawyer, Cliff McCormack at your service. Why are you chained up like that?"

"I have no idea. This whole thing must be some huge mistake."

"Yuh think?"

"What am I charged with, anyway? I mean, I suppose it must be murder, but who am I supposed to have killed? The only guy I've killed recently was strictly self-defense, witnessed and attested to by a cop, whose life I probably saved."

Cliff looked startled at that revelation and said, "You've been charged with Capitol Murder of a Federal Agent During the Performance of Her Duties. A Special Agent Sisneros of the FBI."

"Oh my god!" exclaimed Buffy unhappily, "I liked her! Do they have any suspects?" After a moment of silence Buffy added, "I guess that was a stupid question."

"No grass growing under your feet, is there?"

"But that's nuts! I would never kill Linda Sisneros! At least, not normally." she added the last under her breath, thinking of vampires.

"Apparently the police think you had a grudge against her, something about her calling you a buffalo? Or something."

"But that was good-natured banter! I don't hold grudges! At least, not like that!"

"It seems that Agent Sisneros was murdered horrifically. Her body was found decapitated and with a large wooden stake stabbed into her heart. For some reason the cops think the stake leads to you. Do you know of any reason why they might think that?" Cliff was a little shook up just from reading his notes.

Buffy frowned thoughtfully as she processed Cliff's information. "Someone's trying to frame me," she concluded at last, "and it's probably the local Mafia boss in this town, Don Reichs."

Cliff asked indulgently, "And why would the Mafia care about you so much Ms. Summers? I mean really, you're just a college kid."

"Because I put one of his Capos in jail, a guy named Benedetto, and Reichs is on the run because of me. I fought him in front of a bunch of cops, including the FBI. I also rescued an FBI agent from torture at the hands of the Mafia. And I beat up a pair of his foot soldiers who were trying to intimidate a friend of mine. So he has plenty of reason to be mad at me."

Cliff said with a heavy sigh, "Well, the obvious defense in this case is insanity."

"Actually Cliff," Buffy declared with marked emphasis, "you will have problems with an insanity defense because not only I'm I innocent, but I am completely and provably sane. And there are plenty of cops who will corroborate everything I just said. Now, what's next in this legal circus, anyway?"

Cliff frowned at her and said, "Well, next is the arraignment. They'll formally charge you, you'll plead innocent, then they'll take you to the county lockup to await trial."

"But what about bail?" asked Buffy.

"Bail? For a murder charge? You're dreamin' babe, this is California, only actors get bail for murder, and then only if they're famous."

"OK, I'm starting to see a big problem. I can't be sitting on my duff in jail, I have too many responsibilities. First thing I need you to do is go visit with Willow Rosenberg, she should be at my house. Confer with her and tell everything you told me and follow her instructions. Then maybe we'll get to the bottom of this."

"Uh huh," Cliff replied sarcastically, "and just when do you think I'm going to find the time to do all this conferring and I suppose you'll want me to investigate too. You forget, I'm a twenty dollar an hour shyster, not a six-hundred dollar an hour white-shoe attorney. This isn't even my home base, I live over in Neptune, near San Diego. I was just standing around in the courtroom at the wrong time, on another case, when the judge noticed me and I got appointed to your case. This is just until you get a better lawyer."

Buffy narrowed her eyes and came on all Slayer-y, "_Cliffy, you will follow my instructions or you will regret it_."

"Ah, sure, you bet, I'll get right on it."

--- ---

Cliff wasn't sure exactly why he found himself at 1630 Revello Drive, but there he was. So he rang the doorbell. The door opened cautiously until he found himself looking at a tall thin doe-eyed young woman. It looked like she had been crying recently.

"Yes, may I help you?" Dawn asked.

"I'm here to see Ms. Rosenberg. Is she in?"

Dawn nodded and stepped back. Cliff waited for an invite, but Dawn was silent. After a moment he walked in, assuming an un-announced invitation. Dawn turned and yelled upstairs, "WILLOW, YOU HAVE A VISITOR!"

Cliff wondered if he could get some aspirin. Dawn, remembering her manners, invited Cliff into the living room and asked, "Would you care for some coffee? Or something else?"

"Scotch on the rocks with a water chaser would be nice."

"Um, I don't think we have any. Except water. And rocks, possibly."

Willow bopped into the room and said, "Hi, I'm Willow Rosenberg, what can I do for you?"

"I'm Cliff McCormack, Buffy Summer's lawyer. She gave me strict instructions to come here and question you."

"No she didn't. She gave you strict instructions to come here, bring me up to date with Buffy's legal situation and get instructions from me," Willow said sternly.

"Are you a lawyer?"

"By the goddess no!"

Cliff blinked at her mild and off-kilter curse.

"I would appreciate it if you would bring us up to date on Buffy's legal situation, Mr. McCormack. We need to get her out of jail ASAP, she simply can't be off the streets for long before a noticeable bump in mysterious deaths would become, er, noticeable.

Cliff decided the easiest way to deal with all these lunatics would be to simply agree to their requests. So he explained about the murder charge and Buffy's hypotheses and about what would probably happen at the arraignment.

"Don't worry Dawn," said Willow, I'm sure we'll be able to straighten things out in short order. I think I'd better call Giles, maybe get the Council in on this."

Befuddled Cliff asked, "The who?"

"Oh, nothing you need to worry about, Cliff. Just try to get bail for Buffy tomorrow. And find out what the offense has to say."

"The offense? We call him the prosecutor in the law game. I wouldn't count on bail, if I were you. I don't know how soon the prosecution will get information to me, it's likely to be weeks before they conclude their investigation."

Dawn interrupted, "No no, we don't have weeks! We need Buffy free and clear in a day or two, max." Dawn turned to Willow and asked, "I don't suppose we could get a substitute Slayer, could we? Would we want to if we could?"

"No, Faith needs to stay in prison. But obviously all we have to do is find the real killer and _bob's your uncle_!" Willow noticed looks of incomprehension around her and quickly added, "I've hung about British people too much in my formative years. I mean that once we find out who the murderer is we will have solved all of Buffy's legal problems."

Cliff started to ask more questions, but then decided he wouldn't care for the answers and didn't open his mouth.

--- ---

"Good Christ woman! Do you know what o'clock it is?" exclaimed Giles into his phone.

"My, aren't we all Mr. British? It's 8:15pm, why do you ask, Giles?" asked Willow.

Giles lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. "OK Willow, I know you understand about time zones, and you wouldn't be calling me just to chat me up in the wee hours. So I assume another apocalypse must be looming."

"Actually, it's not quite that bad. Buffy's been arrested for Capitol Murder and her shyster doubts they'll grant bail. I think we need help."

"Shyster?"

"You would say solicitor I suppose. Her court-appointed legal-aid lawyer. Although he's good enough for the preliminary phases, he failed criminal law, so you see why we might want to find a better lawyer if we can't nip this thing in the bud."

"Yes, I understand completely. I'll call Quentin and see if the Council will get off it's fat arse. I can't recall whether or not the Council ever kept an American legal firm on retainer. It wouldn't surprise me either way. But Willow, did Buffy do it?"

"GILES! Of course not!"

"Sorry, I know she would never murder anyone in cold blood, but was this some sort of terrible accident? We have dealt with similar situations, after all."

"No, no Giles. Buffy was nowhere near the scene of the crime. The Mafia is trying to frame her. And they've crafted a pretty damming frame; at least from the police point of view. They murdered an FBI agent and stuck a stake in her heart and decapitated her."

"Good Lord!"

"You see why the Sunnydale Police are all over Buffy on this. Although if they had any sense at all they would know this was a frame."

"Um, if I may venture to ask, why do you think organized crime is interested in framing stray Vampire Slayers?"

"They tried a protection racket on the Magic Box. When that didn't work, things, well, escalated."

"I see. Perhaps I'll cross the pond. I'll get back to you later today. Tomorrow for you," he added pointedly.

"Thanks Giles, bye."

--- ---

_To Be Continued._

_Author's Notes:_

_I was casting about for a plausible lawyer for Buffy and the one that kept popping up in my head was good old Cliff McCormack. I suppose that means that this is now a cross-over with Veronica Mars, at least technically, but I don't think VM is going to show up. But who knows? I never know where a story is going until it's finished. After all, if it turns out that Buffy needs a private investigator, her lawyer knows where to get one._


	10. Chapter 11

The Unfortunate Don

Chapter 11

"The Council is sending some poncey barrister over here. He has been before courts in this country before, but he still needs you, Mr. McCormack, to stay on as the lawyer of record. The new guy will officially assist," said Giles.

"Hey wait," said Cliff, "I can't do it! I don't have time and you're not paying me enough!"

"I think we can rectify the payment situation—we'll bill the council and I don't care how much they have to pay. But aren't you getting paid through the public defender's office? We can just pay you more on the side I, suppose."

"Yeah, but you can simply hire me directly. So, I hope this barrister of yours knows not to wear powdered wigs in a American court," said Cliff.

"Er yes, I think he knows at least that much, he is, after all, a QC."

"What's that mean?" asked Dawn.

"Queens Council, a superior sort of lawyer."

"You know, a really bad joke could go here."

"Hush Dawn."

"What about the American legal firm you mentioned, Giles?" asked Willow.

"Yes, well, it seems they used to have a California law firm on retainer, until they figured out who they were dealing with."

"Don't tell me," said Willow, "Wolfram and Hart?"

"Got it in one. The Council's utter incompetence shows its ugly face yet again. Although on the one hand, they did figure it out eventually, on the other they never got around to retaining a new legal representative. Actually, there might not be that many lawyers around who are aware of the demonic underworld—something I believe the council is keen on. And they might still be distracted by the on-going lawsuit: CoW vs W&H, the Council wants their money back but Wolfram & Hart tends to hang onto money with an agonizingly firm grip. The suit's been going on for some fifteen years now."

Willow asked, "So what do we need to do to find the real killers? You know, our highest priority?"

"Yeah," said Dawn, "because we really want to be in the same room with a guy who decapitates people and drives wooden stakes through their chests."

Willow said, "So says the girl who had a crush on Spike."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean!"

"Don't you remember sitting raptly on Spike's sarcophagus listening to his tales of death, mayhem, suckage and murder?"

"Geez Will, those were just stories. Weren't they?"

"No."

"But that was different. He was different then, wasn't he?"

Cliff coughed and said, "I've got an idea, why don't I prepare the Summers case? See if I can get her out of jail? You can help me with the research and background information. And do me a favor? Save the fairytales until we're done."

"Well Cliffy, some of those fairytales are going to be part and parcel of your background information."

"Bull, I don't want to know anything I can't talk about in open court."

"Unfortunately Mr. McCormack," said Giles, "you won't be able to mount an effective defense unless you know something of what makes Buffy tick. I can give you an analecta of occult writings for your casual perusal, but more importantly, I think it's time to introduce you to a genuine vampire." Cliff looked surprised and more than a little worried. Giles continued, "Don't worry, he's not a feral vampire, we have a tame one on staff."

"Hey, I'm not tame!" Spike angrily declared as he clomped up the stairs from the basement, "I'll have you know I can still kill and maim with the best—I just have to choose my victims more carefully."

"Yes Spike, we're all quaking in our boots. Would you show Mr. McCormack your vampiric visage, if you please."

"And what's in it for me?"

Dawn interrupted and asked, "Spike! All those stories you used to tell me when I visited your crypt, they were mostly made up, right? Right?"

"Sorry little bit, I'm a badass and I used to be worse. Those stories were true. Except for the one about taking the little tyke from coal bin to orphanage. Course, now I'm a wuss and even you can kick me around. Does all that change your opinion?"

"Sigh," she sighed while idly trying to twirl a baseball bat as if it were a baton, "I knew all along, I suppose. I just fooled myself. Well, I have a little surprise for you." Dawn stopped twirling her bat and swung it in a full circle and bashed Spike's head with it—some blood actually spattered onto the wall behind.

Cliff, certain he had just witnessed a murder, jumped about two feet. When he saw Spike turn vampire, he jumped two feet further and no longer knew what to think. Spike held his hands up and curled his fingers like claws and stalked, with blood dripping from the side of his skull, towards Cliff, growling louder as he got closer. But he stopped short, regretfully shook his head and became apparently human again. Cliff was frozen with fear. Spike calmly got out a handkerchief and started cleaning blood from his head.

"Luckily for me," said Spike, "vampires are pretty tough. But don't do that again, Dawn. It does hurt, you know." Spike casually licked blood from his handkerchief. Cliff's eye's bulged and he gagged at the sight, for that matter, so did everyone else.

"WHAT! It's just blood, innit? It's what I do! What I am! I wish to hell you wankers would remember what I am! Chip or no chip!"

"Yes, thank you Spike for your demonstration and capricious sidebar," said Giles, "and now for our guest's peace of mind, would you mind retiring to your subterranean retreat?"

Spike mumbled something rude as he went to the kitchen. Cliff was trying to relax and process new information when Spike unceremoniously came back with a tall frothy glass of blood (with a sprinkling of Wheatabix) and flopped down on the couch in an ungainly sprawl. "For now, I live here you poofter," Spike said while looking pointedly at Giles, "if you want me elsewhere you'll have to shift me arse yourself." And he settled in comfortably, with a slow stretch, and took a long slurp from his glass. He finished by licking the froth from his upper lip.

Giles and Xander both looked disgusted, both shook their heads and decided to ignore Spike. Dawn grinned. Cliff was unsettled. Willow stayed above it all—she appeared to be napping comfortably at the other end of the couch. Her eyes suddenly snapped open and she glared at everyone in the room. "OK look," she said in a tone of voice that brooked no dissent, "we have to investigate and find out what happened to Agent Sisneros. It's obvious that the police aren't looking, and I don't know about the FBI, but we'd better assume no one else is checking. So, we need to find out what the the police know. Cliff? You need to bear down on getting the evidence."

"They'll release it when they're good and ready and not a moment before. All within the letter of the law of course. But I suggest hiring a real investigator. I know a good one in Neptune, he'll really shake things up. As long as this council of yours will pay his rates."

"Hmm," Willow replied, "that sounds good. One potential problem though: the police really don't like having private investigators stomping around open investigations. In fact, I understand they can get downright testy about it."

"Not to worry, my man's middle name is discretion, in fact, you won't even know he's here until you read his reports."

--- ---

FBI Special Agents Robertson and Osbourne marched angrily into the detective bureau. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING STEIN!" shouted Robertson in a voice intended to carry to the farthest reaches of the new Wilkins Building. A dozen detectives looked up, most of them looked pissed off.

Osbourne leaned over and said quietly, "Way to butter 'em up, Charlie. You'll have 'em eatin' outta your hand in no time."

"Oh, blow me. These fucking Sunnydale cops are retarded turds."

"Real touch of class there, Robertson," said Bianchi as she walked up from behind, "We'll all line up to kiss your ass any moment now. Didja learn how to be that charming at the fibbie academy?"

"Bianchi," he said turning to greet her, "can you tell me what the hell is going on with the arrest of the Summers girl? Have you all just gone nuts or something?"

"No, we have good reason."

"Well, what is it?"

"Uh, you'll have to talk to Stein."

"So, where is he?"

"Out."

Just then Detective Stein popped out of the stairwell and asked, "Did I hear someone bellowing for me?"

"Yes," said Bianchi, "**Special** Agent Robertson here is the Federal **bellower** in charge."

"In charge of what?"

"Jackassery."

"Federal Bureau of Incompetence," someone whispered loudly from the back of the room.

"Federal Bullshit Investigation," from another corner.

"Fucking Bullshit Investigators," from the back.

"Fucking Buttfuckers Inc.," floated out from a back room.

"Real comedy team you got here, Stein. Tell me again why you wanted Summers arrested?"

"We have evidence."

"Crap!"

"OK, OK, come with me," Stein said. He turned to an interview room, waved in the FBI agents and closed the door.

"Look, you know we have a new Mayor these days, the first new Mayor in – well, I can't quite remember who was Mayor before Mayor Wilkins, there must have been a different Mayor when I was in High School, I just can't think who it was. Anyway, the new guy had to sweep out a lot of the old mayor's cronies and yes-men, and one of those guys was the Chief of Police, as well as the Chief of Detectives and the Chief of Patrol. That's all the chiefs we had, this being a fairly small department."

"Is this going anywhere? Like I give a rat's ass about the Mayor of Sunnydale?"

"You should've, Mayor Wilkins turned out to be the source of a lot of crime. I believe crooked politicians fall into FBI jurisdiction.

Anyway, the new Police Chief is beholden to the Mayor, as was the old Chief of course, and the Mayor discovered an astonishingly thick file on Ms. Summers—it was hidden in the Mayor's office, in a trick compartment behind all that weird cult crap old Wilkins had. Well, the mayor read that file and came storming in here with it and conferred with the new Chief for some time. The arrest was a directive from our chief."

"Have you read it the report, Stein?"

"No, that high-level stuff takes awhile to trickle down to those of us in the trenches. But I can guess what might be in there, and some of what I might guess worries me. It all depends on how knowledgeable the new Mayor is about stuff we don't talk about. It also depends on just how vindictive Wilkins was feeling when he wrote that report, and why he wrote it. Er, did you know that the Honorable Mayor Wilkins tried to kill Ms. Summers in the hospital? With his bare hands?"

"Uh, really?"

"Yeah, it was right before the last graduation at the old High School. He tried it in front the doctors and nurses on duty. They were pretty upset."

"So what happened after that?"

"Not much. I guess the presence of an audience must have stopped Wilkins from suffocating Ms. Summers, and he left the hospital. As far as I know, nobody ever stood up to Mayor Wilkins, except Buffy Summers—and apparently her whole graduating class—but that's another story. In the meantime, I do know how to follow orders, and if I want to collect my pension, I can't oppose department policy or lawful orders from the duly appointed Chief of Police." said Detective Stein.

Agent Robertson replied, "You know we have a murdered FBI agent—and this is something that we will solve, even if we have to tear your town down around your ears. And I don't believe for one moment that Summers was involved. There's even the possibility that you are complicit in an attempt to hide the real perpetrators."

"Well, I can't tell you what to think. But the Chief said jump, so I jumped. The evidentiary hearing is this afternoon, I suppose we'll see you in court, and we will see what happens, won't we." said Detective Stein.

--- ---

"Cliff McCormack for the defense your honor, with Barrister Lord North as my second chair."

"In my courtroom 'Lord' North, you will be called 'Mr.' North. We do not recognize titles here," said the Judge.

"Certainly, your Honor, that is perfectly acceptable," said Lord North politely as he stood up, "_when in Rome_ and all. And, if I may ask now, why is Ms. Summers in irons? Surely these burly court bailiffs of yours can find a way to manhandle a young woman who barely weighs seven stone soaking wet, assuming she's so rash as to attack them in the first place."

The judge looked at the defendant for the first time and her eyebrows shot upwards. "Bailiff," she exclaimed loudly, "unlock Ms. Summers immediately! There can be no justification for that many manacles and handcuffs!"

"Uh, your honor," said the prosecutor hesitantly, "we have reason to believe that Ms. Summers is a clear and present danger..." he wilted and trailed off under the withering glare from the judge.

The Judge said, "Shut it Mr. Prosecutor, that amount of steel on a young woman is a travesty of justice. Bailiff, get that pile of crap off of her!"

"Yes your honor," the bailiff replied as he rushed up with a large bunch of keys and began to remove the various locks, chains, manacles, cuffs and other hunks of forged steel that he didn't know if they even had names. It took him several minutes to remove it all. He then picked up the whole mass at once and staggered off, losing his balance at the gate and crashed to the floor with an unholy clanging; various bits of steel rolling and skittering off in all directions. Another bailiff rushed over to help—eventually they got it all sorted out under the watchful eye of a variety of spectators, many of whom were attempting not to chuckle too loudly in front of the wrathful eye of the judge.

Buffy stretched catlike, and worked the feeling back into her limbs. "Thank you your honor," she said, "I never understood why they felt that was all necessary. I've always been a good citizen."

"You'll have your chance Ms. Summers. This is the preliminary hearing, this is where we hear the charges and evidence to determine whether or not this case should go to trial. Mr. Inglehoff, you have the floor."

"Thank you your honor," said the prosecutor, "Ms. Summers is charged with Capitol Murder of a Federal Agent." Then he sat down.

The Judge said, "Mr. North?"

The barrister went to the lectern and stated, "Your honor, the prosecution has no evidence, at all. Not only is there nothing connecting the victim with my client, she has an unassailable alibi for the time frame set by the coroner's office. I actually don't even have any hypothesis as to why the prosecution is so adamant – their position literally makes no sense. Therefore, I request that the charges be dropped immediately and an investigation be instigated against the prosecutor's office and the detectives involved in the case."

Inglehoff shot to his feet, "I OBJECT YOUR HONOR, Mr. North is way out of line!"

The judge said, "Would your request really be proper form in England?"

"Certainly, your honor," he replied blandly, his expression daring her to suggest otherwise.

"Well, I'll allow you some leeway Mr. North, but not much. But you do accuse wildly, so watch yourself. Your motion is denied. How does your client plead?"

Everyone turned to Buffy, who stood up and said clearly, "Not Guilty!"

"That's clear enough, Mr. Inglehoff, your turn."

"Your honor, the crime took place in Sunnydale at the Motel 6 on Highway 5, so it is clearly within this court's jurisdiction. We have probable cause that the defendant, Ms. Buffy Summers, did cause the death of Special Agent Sisneros."

"Mr. Inglehoff, you need facts in a court of law. What is your evidence?"

"Um, well, Agent Sisneros had a stake thrust through her heart. Ms. Summers has been found with wooden stakes on her person."

The judge looked at Inglehoff in disbelief. "Mr. Inglehoff, your logic is faulty. You need more if you want a trial."

"She also had a chestful of swords and axes in her house."

North stood up and asked, "Was the murder weapon found?"

"Er, no."

"What about the stake, it was at the scene."

"The stake injury was post-mortem."

"Any evidence on the stake to tie it to Ms. Summers?"

"Well, no, but the investigation is continuing."

"Was there evidence on the stake tying it is to anyone else?"

"Yes, there was some DNA from an individual know only as 'The Kid'. We have yet to identify him."

"But you have him under arrest, yes?"

"Yes."

"And he is wanted for an unspecified number of murders?"

"Yes, well, he's wanted for questioning, he's a 'person of interest'. He couldn't have perpetuated this murder because he was in the hospital at the time, handcuffed to his bed."

"But it's likely that he handled the weapon, possibly under the eyes of the perpetrator."

"Yes."

"I reiterate that at this time, the prosecution does not have a case, and therefore the charges should be dropped.

--- ---

"...to be released on one hundred thousand dollars bail," said the judge with a bang of her gavel.

"I don't have that much money!" Buffy said urgently to Cliff.

"Don't worry dear, you only need ten percent."

"Repeat and see above!" Buffy reiterated.

"You own your house free and clear, correct? You can use it as collateral."

Lord North leaned over and said, "You have nothing to worry about, the Council will make good on the bail. We need you on the streets, not in jail like the other one."

"Wow," said Buffy, "the Council is supporting me? How very – umm, I'm at a loss for words."

"Since you put the wind up Quentin's ass last year, he's been looking for ways to justify his employment. So yes, you can count on support. Just as it should have been, but wasn't, for decades, no, centuries."

Cliff listened to the exchange between his client and his second chair with a puzzled expression. He almost said something, then he noticed the contingent of scoobies rushing and squealing happily towards Buffy and he decided the best plan of action was to retreat smartly.

--- ---

_To Be Continued._


	11. Chapter 12

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

in a Fan Fiction by

Lancer47

STFarnham

**The Unfortunate Don**

Chapter 12

Giles, Lord North, and Xander stayed behind to discuss business while Buffy, Willow and Dawn walked out of the courtroom and down the main hall towards the front of the Wilkins Building. Buffy said, "Huh, I didn't realize this building housed both the new police department and the county courthouse."

Dawn rolled her eyes, "Yeah, like why would you?"

Willow said, "While you were in jail last week, our good friend Mr. Benedetto escaped."

"WHAT!" Buffy was shocked, "why didn't anyone tell me?"

They had just stepped walked though the main hall, passing the police front office, and were joined by Special Agents Robertson and Osbourne, who had overheard the last exchange. "There wasn't any point Ms. Summers. What could you have done from your cell?"

"You couldn't have thought of that before you put me there?"

"Now now, Ms. Summers, that was entirely the effort of the local police. I never believed that you had anything to do with Agent Sisneros' murder, and I was quite vocal in my opposition to the detectives in charge of the case, especially since I would like your help. Apparently, Detective Stein was operating under the orders of your new mayor who found some information left over from the old mayor. Does this make any sense to you?"

Buffy frowned thoughtfully and answered, "Yes, it really does. Mayor Wilkins hated my guts. He was right to do so, since in the end I was the one who barbecued him—with a lot of help from my friends. I don't know what he had to say about me, but whatever it was I'm sure it is not good."

Detective Stein came out of the courtroom and walked over to Buffy. Buffy glared and turned away pointedly. A car with police flashers pulled up to the front of the building, and stopped in front of the main door. 'Sheriff' was written across the car door in big letters. Buffy said to no one in particular, "I didn't know we had a Sheriff's Department."

"We don't," said Dawn, "that would be the Balboa County Sheriff. They're based over in Neptune but we are all in the same county. We don't usually see them because we have our own police, incompetent police, but ours just the same."

"OK, I learn something new everyday," said Buffy, while she watched the Sheriff get out from the driver's seat and a deputy dragged a handcuffed prisoner from back seat. Buffy's eyes opened wide in recognition and she said, "Hey, that's Benedetto!"

They all turned to watch as the Sheriff and his deputy efficiently marched their prisoner along between them, up the steps and down the hall. As they passed the eclectic group, the Sheriff paused and said to Stein, "Hello detective, I believe you lost this," gesturing to the prisoner.

Benedetto spoke up in a ferocious growling tone while staring at Buffy, "I'm gonna get you, you and your family, if it's the last thing I do—you and your sister will die screaming at me while you watch each other bleed to death!" He was nearly foaming at the mouth and his eyes bugged out.

"Lamb, get him outta here!" The Sheriff looked shocked and uncomfortable as Deputy Lamb yanked the prisoner through the door and out of sight.

"I'm so sorry about that, I shouldn't have let the prisoner stand here in the hall with you. But I didn't realize you had a history with him, Miss uh...?"

"Summers, Buffy Summers. And this is my sister, Dawn. And please don't worry Sheriff, we've dealt with him before."

"I'm sure, but it's my job to keep people like that from bothering you."

Cliff McCormack came rushing out of the courtroom with a report in his hands. He stopped in front of Buffy and said, "Excuse me gentleman, but I need some privacy with my client." He stopped and looked up in surprise as he noticed who was standing there, "Sheriff Mars, what brings you here?"

"Well well, if it isn't my favorite shyster. I'm here on a prisoner exchange. It seems the Sunnydale PD let an organized crime figure escape and blacken our serene seaside dale. In the meantime, a certain Loretta Cancun, one of your clients I believe, was picked up here on an outstanding warrant." The sharp eyes of Keith Mars had noticed the logo on the report in Cliff's hands and added, "If you're depending on Vincent Van Lowe for anything, be warned that you might not get what you pay for."

"Why?" asked Willow.

Cliff frowned and said, "Sometimes he gets a bigger offer from the people he's supposed to be investigating to pull the wool over the eyes of his clients. However, Vinnie and I have an understanding—he wouldn't do that to me, not if he wants me to rush down to the jail to bail him out the next time he gets arrested anyway."

"Well," said Keith Mars, "I wish you luck. If you'll excuse me I'll finish my business and be on my way. It was nice to meet you Buffy and Dawn, and again, please accept my apologies for allowing my prisoner to bother you." He turned and went in to the desk sergeant to complete his paperwork.

"Wow," said Dawn, "I think that's the first time I ever heard a policeman of any kind admit to an error in judgment, even a mild error. How come we can't have a sheriff like that here?"

"Because Mayor Wilkins wanted a police department to call his own," said Willow, a little darkly.

--- ---

Finally back at Casa de Summers, Buffy sat comfortably on her front porch sipping iced sun tea with a sprig of mint, and enjoyed the feeling of freedom, sunlight, light breezes, chirping birds, and a pile of reports and research materials. All right, she didn't really enjoy the research, but compared to sitting in a jail cell it was heavenly. Well, not really _heaven_ heavenly, after all, she was familiar with the real thing. But still, with everything in perspective, her front porch felt great.

She read through the mass of material that Dawn, Willow and Giles had managed to amass during the last week and was struck by how often Mayor Wilkins name came up. And also by how often Wilkins was referred to as the 'old mayor Wilkins'. This made sense only if one assumed that was a rationalization made by people who resolutely refused to believe in demons and magic.

Buffy looked up from her lounger when she heard a car stop in front. It was Giles.

"Good afternoon Buffy. I'm glad to see you at home, I am certain you didn't enjoy your sojourn in the gaol."

Buffy looked at him and smiled.

Giles continued, "After you left, I had a chat with Sheriff Mars. He gave me a little background, and some people to look up. Are you ready for a trip to the Sunnydale Gardens Retirement Community?"

"Huh?" Buffy blurted.

Giles smiled and added, "The good Sheriff suggested we talk to a retired Sunnydale detective, by the name of Martinson, who was a fixture here for many decades. He retired long before we came to town. He may well be able to steer us in the right direction to find the goods, as you Americans say, on Mr. Benedetto and his boss."

"What good would that do?" asked Buffy.

"Well, it would appear that the late and unlamented Mayor Wilkins had a finger in every pie, including organized crime. Which is certainly reasonable when you know the Mayor as well as we did."

"But I still don't see what ancient history will do for us."

"Oh Buffy, Buffy, Buffy," Giles said sorrowfully, "those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it. After all this time, I can't believe that you still don't know the value of research. Think a minute: we have criminal elements, a criminal mayor, a demon mayor, a demon criminal leader, money floating around, a politician even more corrupt than run-of-the-mill politicians, need I go on?"

"Oh all right. Give me half a mo' to put this stuff away."

"Dare I ask what a 'mo' is? No, never mind, I dare not."

--- ---

Buffy and Giles walked into the entrance foyer of Sunnydale Gardens. They were very impressed. "Wow," said Buffy, "I wouldn't have thought an honest small-town detective could afford to retire to this kind of luxury."

"I dare say you're right. This lends credence to our whole train of thought, doesn't it?"

An assistant manager bustled over and gushed, "Welcome to Sunnydale Gardens! How may I help you? Are you looking for a nice retirement home for your father, dear?" she said, looking at Buffy.

Giles looked puzzled for a brief moment but his expression turned dark as he processed the question. "My dear young lady," he said as if to a retarded student, "I am in the prime of life, it shall be many a year before I am ready to retire to a nursing home!"

Buffy tried hard to keep her laughter unheard, but was unsuccessful.

"Oh, gosh! I am sorry sir, I just assumed... Er, ah, what may I do for you?"

"We'd like to talk to Detective Martinson, Retired."

"Is he expecting you?"

"No. Just tell him that Rupert Giles and Buffy Summers would like a few minutes of his time."

The assistant conferred briefly on her phone and finally said, "Follow me please. By the way, the Detective considers himself to be quite a rakish old fellow, Ms. Summers, so don't be too upset by his, ah, flirtatious ways. He doesn't mean anything by it, and even if he did I don't suppose he could do anything about it."

--- ---

"So, you're Buffy Summers. Would you like a roll in the hay with me?"

"WHAT?" Buffy exclaimed.

"Would you roll my wheelchair through the hay, out back, in the gardens?"

Buffy frowned at him for a moment, then shook her head in amusement, "All right. Which way?"

Buffy pushed the detective along the smooth asphalt paths through the impeccably landscaped grounds. Eventually, they came to a quiet spot overlooking the ocean from the high cliffs. Buffy could see the beach where she and the rest of the scoobies occasionally hung out during the summer. The overlook included some benches, and had nice big trees to provide plenty of shade. Buffy and Giles sat down and all three were silent for a few moments.

Finally, the retired detective said, "Buffy Summers. Although my time on the force was before your time, I've heard of you, of course. I would have welcomed you, or your predecessor. I lost a few good friends, mostly on the night shift, before I understood what we were facing."

"So," said Giles, "you know about vampires and demons?"

"Oh yes, and witches, ghosts, even leprechauns."

"I believe the latter are a myth, and ghosts rarely bother anyone. And witches don't usually cause problems, except under exceptional circumstances."

"Hmmm, yes. Well, I have heard through the grapevine that you have saved the lives of a number of police officers. Enough so that most everyone on the force is aware of your actions. That doesn't go unnoticed, so I will answer as many of your questions as I am able."

"Well," said Buffy, "we aren't really sure because we find ourselves in a situation that has more to do with organized crime than supernatural crime. This is not my usual territory, so I am finding myself a little unsure of what needs to be done next. This all started when the local organized crime family decided to start up a little protection racket. They didn't have enough sense to stay away from the "Magic Box", where I often hang out, and the results were predictable to anyone who knows me."

The detective chuckled appreciatively and said, "I would have liked to have seen that."

"Well," said Buffy, "there are tapes of the original incident. The cops have them so all you have to do is ask your friends. Any way, to cut a long story short, we ended up following the chain of crooks up to a Mr. Bennidetto..."

" 'Don' Bennedetto?"

"Yes, and his boss, Frankie Reichs. He's the one who worries us."

"Yeah, I can see why. Frankie Reichs moved in some forty years ago. He had some dealings with Mayor Wilkins. Oddly enough, I was at a ceremony back in '62, on duty, when Wilkins presented Reichs with some sort of community award—the keys to city or some such thing. That was before I knew what was up, so I was suitably impressed. The thing is, the ceremony was held in mid-morning, outside in full sunlight. But after that, I never again saw Frankie in the sun. Make of that what you will."

Giles said, "It's apparent that he was sired shortly after. I suppose it could have been a reward—one might expect the criminal element to think that way."

"Could be, I am certain many a low-life would happily trade life for the apparent power of the undead. Your average criminal isn't known for his smarts. Good thing too, otherwise we wouldn't catch so many of 'em."

Buffy and Giles both smiled at that.

"So what was the deal between Reichs and the Mayor?" asked Buffy.

"Oh, simple, in order to operate in Sunnydale, organized crime had to pay off Mayor Wilkins."

"And how do you know this detective?" asked Giles.

"Umm," he answered a little hesitantly, "well you see, I handled the payoff myself. At least for my last few years on the force. Once a week I went 'round to one of Frankie Reichs establishments and picked up an envelope. It was always fat, stuffed full of cash. Then I went to City Hall, on official business you see, and delivered the envelope directly to the Mayor. He always used to clean his hands with a handi-wipe after counting the money. After the first year, he had me count the money while he watched, I suppose to save on handi-wipes."

Buffy looked at the detective with narrowed eyes. "So, you were one of Sunnydale's finest, on the take."

"You have to understand something Ms. Summers, if I didn't do what the Mayor and the Chief of Police told me to do, I would either find myself out on the street with no benefits, or dead, or worse than dead. It was work with them, or not work at all."

Buffy nodded her head slowly and said, "OK, I wasn't there, I can see you were between a rock and a hard spot. But if I was you, I would done something else."

"What?"

"Beats me, but I would have found a way to wreck the works."

"Yeah, well, I didn't have anyone on my side. And if it helps, I felt really bad about it."

"No detective, it doesn't help," Buffy looked around at the Sunnydale Gardens Retirement Community and added, "you're living in what most people would consider luxurious retirement, built on the horrible deaths of how many citizens of Sunnydale?"

Martinson had the grace to look embarrassed.

--- ---

Anya sadly tossed out the remains of the broken merchandise, after cataloging and photographing every shard for insurance purposes. She couldn't believe that this ugly old vase survived the explosion. _It was right next to the front window and it still didn't break. I can't win. Even though I gave it fancy new name in a language other than English, relabeling it a _tekokarestill_ nobody would pay me for it,_ she thought angrily. Thinking about it pissed her off so much she dropped it. It bounced and remained intact. "Shit!"

She picked it up and it rattled a little. She looked inside it, saw something, turned it upside down and shook it some more. A small leather pouch, wrapped tightly with leather strings, fell out and thumped on the floor. Anya's eyebrows went up. She tossed the vase aside, noting that it still refused to break, and investigated the pouch.

"Huh." she said out loud as she unwrapped it.

To be continued ...

_Author's Notes:_

_1. To those of you who were looking forward to a lengthy Mars Investigations subplot, sorry, not gonna happen. This takes place at least a year before Lily's death, therefore, Keith Mars is still Sheriff and Veronica is still on the pep squad with Lily. In fact, they might be dancing to the 'Spice Girls' even as we speak. _

_2. It might be fun to get Dawn and Veronica together in a story, but not in this one. The main reason for the inclusion of Keith Mars is a setup for another story: _Veronica on the Cusp of Vegas_. I don't think we'll much more of the VM crew in this one. The fit is a little off for anything more than cameo appearances._

_3. I played fast and loose with the court scenes, legal lingo, and the timing and all. But sometimes you just have to forget about getting every detail right and move the story along._


End file.
